by B. J. Beach
Karryl looked down at his chest. With a great gulp of relief, he closed his fingers over the medallion and lifted it in front of his eyes. Much larger than it had seemed in Symon’s drawing, it completely filled his hand. A heavy gold chain was threaded through one of three small rectangular holes pierced equidistantly round its inner edge. Karryl noticed a small flaw in the closely woven links of the chain, as if at some time it had been broken then mended. Leaving Karryl no time to study his hard won prize further, Areel opened a narrow shimmering portal in the rock face.
Thrusting the abandoned lanterns into their hands he pushed them both bodily through. “We shall meet again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
He was alone, but that was the way he wanted it. A temple guard was stationed outside the room to ensure he would not be disturbed. He could have placed a warding on the door, but a warding would not kill, only stun or maim, and in his domain the disobedient died. He had left the dark, oppressive temple with cries of rapturous adulation ringing in his ears, leaving the priests and priestesses to perform the final rites and clean up the mess.
Tonight, his grelfon had chosen to feed, had picked a willing victim from those who had succumbed to the euphoria and come forward to kneel before the ghastly altar. Another four, possibly five nights would pass before it fed again. The whole ceremony had sickened Ghian to his stomach, and despite the immutable bond he had with his beast, he found its habits deplorable. Following the opulence of his sojourn in Nebir, his return to the city of Vedra earlier that day had come as a welcome antidote. Nevertheless he had, rather disturbingly, found tonight’s rituals particularly nauseating. He had made his exit as quickly as temple etiquette would allow. The straight, high-walled and dimly lit corridors of unrelieved black stone seemed endless. The hard unyielding floor jarred his aching legs as he strode in dignified haste to the sanctuary of his well appointed living quarters. Now, like a spoilt child, he picked and pushed at the delicacies left for him. His libido at low ebb, he even felt repugnance at the mere thought of taking some eager and willing acolyte or priestess to his bed.
With one final prod at his food he stood up. Removing the heavy medallion from round his neck, he laid it carefully in the centre of a small, inlaid table. He then removed his black robe, hanging it on a form specially made for the purpose, after he had discovered by chance that the intriguingly worked sigils were only visible when viewed from directly in front. Since then, almost every evening he had derived some grim satisfaction from lying on his couch and gazing at them in the hope that, one day soon, their meaning would become clear. This night, the usual frisson of anticipation failed to stir him. Its place had been usurped by an invisible cloud of discontent, a feeling to which he was not accustomed. As he contemplated the sigils, the discontent continued to fester, gathering gradually into a throbbing head of bitterness. Looking round the room, he saw as if for the first time the beautiful wall hangings, ancient and priceless figurines, some of solid gold, standing on furniture crafted from rare and costly woods. It all gave him scant comfort. Prevented from losing himself in the dark, diabolic mind of his now gorged and somnolent grelfon, Ghian decided to seek the solace of sleep. Yet even that was to be denied him.
As he focussed once more on the sigils, his eyes widened and his pulse began to race. All vestiges of despondency shrivelled away. A pale luminescence had imbued the first of the sigils with a shimmering life, its complexity rendered clearly visible against the robe’s smooth black fabric. Sitting bolt upright, his fists clenched in anticipation, Ghian stared as it faded and the second one took on an opalescent glow. This too, quickly flickered away as the third one flared into visibility, its form appearing to writhe sinuously in an incandescent fire. A softly metallic tinkling sound caused Ghian to turn sharply. With a roar of rage and anguish he lunged towards the inlaid table, his hand outstretched.
The medallion rose high in the air, its gold chain briefly brushing the backs of his clutching fingers. Realisation struck him like an attacking grelfon. Swiftly he drew power but the fourth sigil’s outline was already diminishing. Ghian forced everything he had into blocking translation of the fifth. It flickered weakly, a barely visible faint blue outline. Ghian relaxed slightly as it faded completely. Suddenly he clasped his hands tightly round his head. Sharp and intense pain pulsed through his skull, forcing him to relinquish his power. Nauseous with pain and barely able to see, he stumbled across the room and threw open the door.
His voice quavering he yelled hoarsely at the astonished guard. “Fly the grelfons! Fly the grelfons! We have enemies among us!”
As the guard hurtled along the passage to raise the alarm, Ghian turned and quickly scanned the room before sinking to his knees. With tears of anger and frustration trickling down his face, he beat his fists impotently against the luxurious carpet. The medallion, symbol of his power and authority, was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTYONE
The sigh of the portal’s closing died away to be followed by a long gasping groan from Karryl. Just in time Magnor reached out to bear the young magician’s weight before he folded into a heap. His whole body trembled, his eyes were closed, and a fine sheen of perspiration covered the sickly pallor of his face. Galvanised into action by the sound of approaching footsteps, Magnor lowered Karryl to the tunnel floor as quickly and gently as he could. Turning his mind inwards, he retrieved the mental blueprint of Dhoum and set the metamorphosis in motion. The tall lean figure of a desert warrior silently and steadily reduced in stature and increased in girth.
Its completion coincided with the arrival of the owners of the feet. “Dhoum! Good to see you again! We thought it best to come and check that you were alright.”
Symon clapped the black-robed Dhoum on his broad shoulder. “You look like a hairy cleric!”
Before Dhoum could reply, Symon was kneeling beside the still-trembling Karryl. Quickly he checked his vital signs then looked up at Dhoum. “Well, whatever he’s been doing, it certainly took the best part of his power. He’s almost drained.”
Dhoum crouched down beside the little magician and murmured into his ear. “It would more than likely have killed him if he’d continued alone. We transferred enough power into him to make the attempt successful. Look!”
Pulling aside the front of Karryl’s jerkin, Dhoum briefly revealed the medallion. Taking no time to examine it, Symon quickly slipped it down inside the front of Karryl’s tunic, and out of sight. Beckoning to the two healers who had accompanied him, he and Dhoum moved to one side, allowing the healers to position themselves one on either side of Karryl. The older of them placed his hands carefully across the young magician’s brow and temples, while the younger healer introduced a single drop of a clear golden liquid to the young magician’s tongue. In the space of a few heart-beats his trembling abated, and the healers carefully wiped away the perspiration with moistened cloths. Both healers then stood, just as Karryl mumbled something and opened his eyes. Directly in his line of vision, Symon was the recipient of a weak grin.
He returned it with a brief nod, his expression inscrutable then turned to Dhoum. “Who else was with you?”
The sleek-haired Grrybhñnös drew a scaly four-fingered hand over his muzzle. “A trusted ally. Areel.”
Symon spent a moment or two gazing intently at the floor. “Areel? Unlikely name for an ally! Hmmm. The situation becomes ever more complex.”
The little magician stood tapping his forefinger against his chin as he watched the two healers help Karryl to sit up. Satisfied he was recovering and no longer in any danger, they picked up their bags and took their leave. Karryl held out a hand and Dhoum hauled him to his feet.
Symon eyed his apprentice thoughtfully. “As it seems you are sufficiently restored, perhaps we can make our way back. Master Tukrin is safe, thanks to you, but I think it wise not to waste any more time here. We must set about discovering who is responsible for the wicked deed.”
The little magician grabbed up a now redundant lantern and began
to scurry off towards the tunnel entrance. Karryl raised a questioning eyebrow at Dhoum. The Grrybhñnös nodded slowly, a knowing sparkle in his amber eyes.
Karryl called after the hastening form of the diminutive magician. “Master Symon! We already know… everything.”
Symon waved over his shoulder without turning. “No time now, Karryl. We have to…”
He stopped suddenly, lowered the lantern to the floor and stood, arms folded inside his sleeves, patiently waiting until the others caught up.
Head cocked to one side he looked almost accusingly up at Karryl. “To say one knows everything is a rather broad statement, young Karryl. Am I to presume you refer to matters pertaining to events of approximately one hour ago?”
Karryl nearly dropped the lantern he was carrying. An incredulous snort escaped from Dhoum’s hairily obscured snout. He sidled over to Karryl and mumbled, not too quietly, against his left elbow. “Strikes me someone’s been messing about with time.”
Karryl nodded. They both looked accusingly at Symon. The magician raised both hands in denial. “Don’t look at me! Even if I had the power to do such a thing, Naboria’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
Karryl shrugged, and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. “Could we go and have something to eat while we talk about this? I’m starving.”
Symon’s grey eyes twinkled as he looked him up and down. “I should imagine. Not much to eat in the desert unless you know where to look. Nevertheless, your stomach will have to wait a little longer. I must get the medallion back in safe keeping until such time as I return to Vellethen.”
In a slight fit of pique, Karryl’s eyes narrowed and he folded his arms. “How did you know where we’d been, and how did you know that I have the medallion?”
Symon threw back his head and released a great guffaw. Patting his palms together, the little magician grinned up at Karryl, delight evident on his round face. “I knew you’d ask me that! It’s quite simple really.”
He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.
Karryl gave in. “All right. Amaze me. Although after what I’ve seen recently, it could be difficult.”
Symon gave a knowing wink. “Indeed yes. Well, it’s the colour of the sand. The stuff that was falling out of your clothes onto the tunnel floor is totally different to that found in Thermera. Not only that, you also reek of night air and grelfon.”
An almost beatific expression on his face, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “As for the medallion, we-e-ell; although Dhoum did show it to me, I already knew it was nearby. It sings to me you see.”
Karryl was unable to suppress a smile as he remembered the way the book had sung to him in Symon’s tower.
Symon wagged a finger. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Let’s just say I can sense it. That’s how I found it in the first place. Now, no more questions. There will be enough questions, and hopefully answers before too much longer.”
Before Karryl had chance to reply, Dhoum stepped forward, thoughtfully stroking his golden throat-patch.
He peered up at each of them in turn, then leaned towards them, keeping his voice low. “I can provide Solen with as much information as he needs, but the follow-up will be down to us. Recent events have changed things. It’s time for you to move on Master Karryl. Sooner than originally planned I must admit, but it would be rather dangerous for you to remain here.
“Master Symon will stay, but it falls to me to deliver you safely to your next destination. If the beings who inhabit it are so minded, it is there that you will acquire the ultimate knowledge you will need.”
Karryl stared first at Dhoum and then at Symon. “Isn’t this all going a bit fast? I’ve only been here barely a day, which somehow turned into a day and a night, I’m that hungry I could eat a scabby horse between two straw mattresses, and now you’re talking about whisking me off to somewhere else! A bit of sleep wouldn’t come amiss either. Whose life is it anyway?”
Symon gave his petulant apprentice a long flat look. “For the time being, not yours. I hope you’re not developing a selfish streak. You may not be aware, but the survival of a world, possibly two, depends on your coming through all this successfully. Now, if you’ll give me the medallion, I’ll ensure that it remains with me. After much deliberation I have decided that it is in all likelihood a scientific rather than a magical artefact, and I can think of no better place than Thermera to study it further.”
Looking rather shamefaced, Karryl reached into his tunic and drew out the medallion on its gold chain. Reluctantly he handed it to Symon who quickly hung it round his own neck, tucking it away down the front of his robe.
Noticing the look on Karryl’s face, Symon gave a little shrug. “Don’t worry. Even if there is some kind of attack from Naboria, it will be quite safe. There is no dark Vedric magic which can overcome the kind of wards that will be placed on this valuable item. When we get back to our rooms at the palace, you can apply yourself to the problem of how the medallion works with the book.
“Now, I must be off. It would be best if you and Dhoum left immediately. He knows what to do and where to take you. Solen and Janar need to be advised, as there may well be repercussions from some decidedly tetchy Vedrans. If one can make a shift-portal, you can almost guarantee there will be others.”
Patting his chest as if to reassure himself of the reality of the medallion, the little magician turned and set off at a brisk pace towards the tunnel entrance. Dhoum and Karryl gazed thoughtfully at his retreating back.
His hand under Karryl’s elbow, Dhoum steered him through the tunnel gate. “If you’re feeling better we’ll make our way out of here.”
Remembering the seemingly endless curving length of the tunnel, Karryl groaned.
Dhoum held up a four-fingered hand. “Don’t worry. We won’t be going all the way back. For you, there is another way out. It will mean getting your feet wet, but it’ll be quicker and it’s level.”
Karryl smiled grimly. “I’m all for that. Come to think about it, it was getting my feet wet that started all this in the first place.”
Dhoum gave one of his rare, slow blinks. “Best get going. It’s quite a way to where I have to leave you.”
Karryl stopped in mid stride. “Can’t we just dematerialise here and turn up there? It would save …”
Dhoum made a swift cutting motion with his hand. “Can’t be done. Those wishing to gain admittance to your next destination have to walk the designated path to the portal.”
He resumed his rolling gait along the tunnel. By the time Karryl had caught up with him, he was standing gazing at the wall to his right. He looked up at Karryl. “This is the place.”
The young magician stared at the featureless dark grey stone. “Oh! What joy! We’re going through another wall!”
His companion fixed a flat amber gaze on him, and Karryl mutely threw up his hands in resignation. Moving close to the wall until his muzzle was almost touching it, Dhoum studied the grey stone. As Karryl stepped closer to peer over his shoulder, the Grrybhñnös started to scrub the backs of his scaly fingers across a small area just above eye level. Gradually a faint rectangular outline, a hand-span’s width, appeared on the surface. Folding his four-jointed fingers into a box-like fist, Dhoum pushed hard against the rectangle. Slowly and smoothly it sank into the wall.
He turned to Karryl. “Ready?”
Karryl nodded as, with a low rumbling noise, a section of the wall in front of him began to recede then slid sideways to the right until it had stowed itself out of sight behind the arm’s length thickness of the wall. Dhoum quickly stepped through and beckoned Karryl to follow. A couple of paces inside, Karryl turned just in time to see the heavy stone door sliding across to blot out the light from the tunnel. The darkness was absolute. He had just begun the dark-sight spell when he heard a click. The blackness was dispelled by a flood of brilliant blue light.
Dhoum waved the torch at Karryl. “Areel practically threw
it at me as he pushed us through the portal. He probably thought we might need it.”
With a grin, Karryl breathed a sigh of relief. “It’ll certainly last longer than the dark-sight spell. Unless of course, we’re not going that far.”
Dhoum eased his black-robed bulk around Karryl and shone the light down the narrow tunnel ahead. “‘Fraid we are, but it’s not difficult. Level for most of the way, then downwards.”
With a vigorous shake of the torch the Grrybhñnös set off at his surprisingly fast rolling gait, and Karryl found himself having to step out quite smartly in order to keep up. He soon discovered that conversation was almost impossible, due not only to the tunnel causing their voices to echo but also his unavoidable position as rearguard. After a couple of attempts he gave up and turned his mind to assessing and evaluating everything that had happened in the previous few hours. As Grrybhñnös and magician progressed along the seemingly endless tunnel, the latter’s thoughts began to drift back to Vellethen’s children lying helpless under an enchantment of sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTYTWO
The city huddled under a blanket of silence. At intervals that silence would be shattered by the clatter and thunder of troops riding and marching, grim-faced and resolute, towards the barracks. No housewives moved briskly from shop to shop or chatted in little knots on street corners. Great Market and Little Market stood deserted, their coloured awnings folded away, the permanent stalls dark beneath shrouds of weighted canvas. In a little over a week, Vellethen had changed from a bustling metropolis to a city which was, to all intents and purposes, under siege. The news of its plight, and that of its children, had spread rapidly across the country. Carters and hauliers who would normally stay and patronise the markets and inns after bringing materials and produce into the city, had unloaded their last deliveries with almost indecent haste and left again as fast as they could. Already, trade was beginning to suffer.
No household stood untouched by the enchantment’s tendrils. Senior citizens feared for grandchildren, parents anxiously watched children for the slightest stirring which could mean a return to wakefulness. Their anxiety was only minimally eased by the fact that the stasis spell, laid first by Dhoum and then enhanced by Mordas, Evalin and Kimi, would ensure the children’s condition would not deteriorate.