by B. J. Beach
The Prime Minister blanched. “Your Majesty! I must protest!”
Vailin held up a warning hand. “No, you must not! I have seen little evidence lately of any changes or improvements which could be attributed to the work of my ministers. As for tomorrow’s meeting, it will be little more than a formality. I have made a decision based on some excellent intelligence and advice, and I will expect you all to abide by my decision, however badly it may sit. I think you will find it is the right one, when all is said and done. Now, in light of the things I have just said, no doubt you will feel reluctant to tell me anything of any consequence. However, on a basis of mutual respect, anything useful and pertinent you can tell me will be considered most carefully.”
The Prime Minister swallowed hard. Attempting a winning smile, he succeeded only in achieving a grimace which made him look as if he was suffering from wind. He looked over at Vailin’s secretary, but Master Gibb was concentrating on the writing of notes and did not look up.
Failing to obtain any moral support from that quarter, Duckitt turned an earnest gaze on his king. “I think you should know, Your Majesty, that despite the Lady Evalin’s efforts and the unanimous vote of the last meeting, at least half the ministers are still strongly in favour of raising an army and engaging in conventional warfare with the Naborians. I fear they will not be swayed. I have heard some of their arguments, and I must admit they are quite convincing.”
Vailin’s smile was devoid of warmth. “So, where do your sympathies lie, Prime Minister? Perhaps you will take a neutral position?”
Duckitt winced visibly as Vailin caught him wrong-footed. Managing to look suitably pained, the Prime Minister gave a little wring of his hands. “Your Majesty! I can in all honesty say…” Vailin stifled a snort. “…that I will whole-heartedly support the Crown, as is my sworn duty.”
His Majesty King Vailin II promptly stood up and glared down at his Prime Minister. “Then, Prime Minister Duckitt, I suggest you remind my ministers that it is also their sworn duty to support the Crown. The decision I have made is based on information and advice which I have received indirectly from an authority far higher than my own. As such, it is extremely, and I do mean extremely, unlikely to be swayed. Thank you, Prime Minister. I trust that tomorrow I shall be able to say what a sensible and capable person I have in charge of my Government.”
Duckitt rose hurriedly to his feet. Placing an arm across his ample stomach he made an almost perfect bow. “Assuredly, Your Majesty. By your leave, I will now go and prepare myself and your loyal ministers for tomorrow’s meeting.”
Vailin nodded his assent. Master Gibb slid from behind his desk and was already holding the door open by the time Duckitt reached it.
As he closed the door the secretary gave a little smile of satisfaction. “I think that went rather well, sire.”
Vailin’s smile mirrored that of Gibb. “Indeed it did, Master Gibb, indeed it did.”
CHAPTER THIRTYFOUR
After what seemed to be hours of walking, Karryl broke into a trot until he had caught up with Dhoum, and tapped him on the back. The russet-haired Grrybhñnös stopped and swivelled his head round, a feat peculiar only to his race and owls.
Karryl found it slightly disconcerting. “Is there much further to go? I haven’t eaten or slept since what may well be yesterday, and I’m beginning to feel a bit drained.”
Dhoum manoeuvred himself round in the narrow tunnel so that his head and body were facing in the same direction. “Don’t you know a spell of sustenance?”
Karryl threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I do! But if we’re nearly there, I’d rather have something to eat. There is something decidedly satisfying in having a full stomach.”
Dhoum gave a non-committal sort of a grunt and began to fumble about under the folds of his robe. He gave another grunt as he appeared to find what he was looking for, and held out one four-fingered hand.
Lying in the pale-skinned palm was a round white object, about the size of a large coat button. “You’ll have to make do with this.”
Karryl took it rather apprehensively and held it close to the light of the torch. “What is it?”
Dhoum gave a long-suffering sigh. “That, Master Karryl, is a very special biscuit, made to a secret recipe by a small group of our females.”
Karryl stared at it. “One biscuit? How far will I go on one biscuit?”
Dhoum began turning round again as he replied. “Try it. Eat it. I think you’ll be surprised.”
Tentatively, Karryl bit off a small piece. It dissolved almost instantly in his mouth and he had no choice but to swallow. He found the flavour somewhat reminiscent of honey, and quickly popped the rest of it into his mouth.
Dhoum watched with interest. “Well, what do you think?”
Karryl grinned. “That’s quite some biscuit. I feel as if I’ve had a three course meal. Thank you.”
He patted his illusory full stomach, and peered along the tunnel. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Dhoum gave one of his rumbling chuckles. Launching into his characteristic rolling gait he set off, torch aloft, into the darkness. Progress was rapid, although Karryl frequently found himself breaking into a trot in his efforts to keep up with his surprisingly agile companion. It was during one of these keeping pace intervals that Karryl began to realise that the floor of the tunnel, which until now had been level, was not only beginning to slope gradually downwards, but also to curve to the right. His spirits rose as the going became easier. A sudden and brief whiff of salty air made him suspect they were close to their destination. His feeling of relief was short-lived.
A curve in the tunnel swallowed Dhoum and the light, and Karryl felt suddenly and inexplicably alone and dejected. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he stood unmoving in the middle of the tunnel, and forced his eyes to peer into the darkness, a task he was beginning to find increasingly difficult. Shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the lethargy which threatened to engulf him, he found it was of no avail. Eyelids drooping beyond the point of rescue, he succumbed to an overwhelming desire to sleep. Stumbling unsteadily sideways until he met the wall, he slid down and collapsed in an untidy heap on the tunnel’s cold floor.
Slowly and heavily he swam towards a bright blue light which, despite all his efforts to focus, remained tantalisingly distant. A voice was calling his name, and his mind struggled to locate the source. The light was nearer now. He could smell the tang of sea air mingled with the rich smell of ferns and damp soil. He felt a jolt against his shoulder. As he rolled onto his back, something tickled his forehead.
He opened his eyes to find Dhoum’s hairy face peering closely into his own. “Mmm. It worked then.”
Knuckling his eyes, Karryl struggled to sit up. “What worked?”
Dhoum crouched down beside him. “Forgot to tell you about it. Ward placed a pace or two from here. Stops anyone going where we’re going. Makes you go back in the other direction when you wake up.”
The young magician grimaced. “You’re immune to it, I suppose?”
“‘Course. Couldn’t get you there otherwise. Right. Up you get. Should be feeling better now. Soon be at the end of this stage. Come on.”
Dhoum stood up and waited while Karryl pushed himself to his feet, then barrelled off down the tunnel again, leaving Karryl to follow in his wake. The pair followed a long straight of about a mile before rounding another bend to the right. Dhoum switched off the torch. The absolute darkness of the tunnel’s interior had given way to the gloom which sits at the back of daylight.
With a grin Karryl took in deep breaths of the salty air which swirled around them. “We’ve almost arrived then?”
Dhoum’s body rippled under his robe. “Not quite. Better take off your boots unless you want them ruined in salt water.”
Quite amenable to practical advice, Karryl removed his boots and placed them carefully against the wall of the tunnel.
Dhoum wagged a scaly hand. “Pick ‘em up. Take ‘em wi
th you. Not coming back this way.”
Karryl picked up his boots and managed to look helpless as he held them in the air. “Where am I supposed to put them?”
Dhoum clapped his hands to the sides of his muzzle. “Gods! You’re a magician aren’t you? Make something!”
Looking suitably abashed, Karryl reached into the air and seconds later produced what appeared to be a very long shoe-lace. Threading it through the ornamental buckles on the sides of his boots, he then slung them round his neck.
Dhoum grunted. “Good. Not so difficult, was it?”
* * *
They emerged from the tunnel onto a long, gently curving beach of smooth silvery sand. A pale winter sun hung half-way down a hazy sky, giving the preternaturally calm water below it a soft, metallic sheen. Sitting down on the sand, Karryl stretched out his legs. Dhoum ambled down to the tide’s edge, studied the water closely then looked long and hard in both directions. He then turned to his left and began to scrutinise the shore-line, taking one small step at a time. Eventually he stopped and peered into the gentle ripples which wetted the sand just beyond his feet. Apparently satisfied with what he found he took a long pace backwards. Crouching down, he fashioned two little pillars of sand, before ambling back up the beach and settling himself beside Karryl. The two sat for a while in companionable silence, gazing out at the ocean as the barely perceptible tide crept nearer to Dhoum’s sand pillars.
Karryl waved an arm to encompass the whole vista. “Where are we? Is this still Thermera?”
Dhoum blinked slowly. “It is. You’ve walked from one side of the island to the other. Impossible over land unless you have a sphere. No-one’s been here in centuries.”
Puzzled, Karryl frowned. “How do you know about it then?”
Dhoum stood and brushed sand off his robe. “Tell you sometime. Not now. It’s time to go.”
The little pillars of sand had just received their first wetting. As he drew closer, Karryl could see that they were about one pace apart.
Taking hold of the young magician’s arms, Dhoum positioned him carefully between them. “When those wash away, start walking straight ahead into the water. Quite safe. Nothing to fear.”
Karryl looked dubiously at the water for a moment then turned to speak to Dhoum. To his consternation, the Grrybhñnös was already halfway back up the beach, heading for the tunnel entrance.
He stopped and turned as Karryl called out to him. “Where are you going? Aren’t you coming with me?”
Dhoum shook his head. “You’re on your own for the next part. I was only to be your guide as far as here. I’ll be around when you get back. Look! The sand piles are gone. Walk into the water!”
Taking a tentative step forward, Karryl gave a little shudder as the cold water made contact with his feet. Little swirls and eddies danced round his ankles. He took another longer step, while all around him the ocean remained unmarred by any ripple or undulation. He continued to walk forward, fully expecting the water to be reaching his waist before too long. Only when he was about a hundred paces out from the shore did he realise that not only was the water still barely above his ankles, he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet. The shock of realisation momentarily upset his balance. As he wind-milled his arms to recover, his memory flashed briefly to the events at the stream, events which had triggered such major changes in his life.
He turned to look back at the shore. It wasn’t there. All he could focus on was a shimmering lucent whiteness which moved swiftly and inexorably towards him. He stood and watched, resigning himself to the inevitable, as it drew closer. An involuntary shiver coursed over his skin as pearlescent tendrils wafted out and gently explored his face. Sight of the ocean was obscured as the nebulous entity enveloped him.
CHAPTER THIRTYFIVE
Although the sun was barely over the horizon the Council Chamber was already a hive of activity. The sun’s weak wintry rays filtered through the high windows casting a pale cheerless light onto the scene below. The air crackled with anticipation as ministers dashed from group to group, gathering and dispensing information, arguing and assessing. Still smarting from the sharpness of Vailin’s tongue during the previous day’s meeting, the Prime Minister now kept himself very much in evidence. Having ensured that all his ministers were cognisant of the relevant facts, he applied himself to establishing what percentage were still favouring the dissenting faction. For about half an hour he scurried busily from group to group, gathering notes and fending off pleas to be heard first. He was about to intervene in a rapidly developing argument between Chancellor Leggitt and the Minister of Transport, when the thunder of grounding halberds stilled the clamour. Every head turned towards the dais.
As usual, the young king had dressed down for the occasion. Since his accession to the throne, Vailin’s determination not to wear robes of state unless it was absolutely necessary had caused the normally imperturbable Jobling a great deal of consternation. Today was no exception. Vailin’s choice of attire had his own comfort very much in mind.
After acknowledging the synchronised bows of his ministers, he hitched his dark blue velvet trousers and seated himself on what he referred to as his ‘bargaining throne’, all the while studying the sea of faces, gauging moods. What he saw filled him only with the certain knowledge that today was going to be very long and no doubt tedious. Each face reflected grim resolve, each minister fully apprised of the situation, each one determined to have their say and to be heard. Even the Prime Minister seemed to have acquired a new backbone, and stood forward of his ministers, an anticipatory glint in his eye.
Master Gibb leaned forward from behind the throne. “All the ministers are present, sire, even Minister Bloom.”
Vailin turned and looked at Gibb in astonishment. “Graveyards, Parks and Gardens? Good grief! This meeting’s about enemies, not anemones!”
Grinning widely, Gibb slid behind one of two small desks at the side of the dais and prepared to take notes. Vailin leaned back.
Hands resting on the arms of his throne, he addressed his ministers. “I think it would be a good idea if we dispensed with the preliminaries and moved straight to the main topic of the agenda, which, I’m sure you’re all by now aware, is the ever-increasing threat to our country of Albita. You will also be aware of my feelings regarding the situation in which we find ourselves. I will also reiterate what I have previously told Prime Minister Duckitt. To attempt to meet this threat with conventional weapons would be sheer folly. I also strongly believe the matter is already out of our hands, and we shall be mere observers, no more than that.”
The room became a veritable forest of little blue flags as ministers vied with each other to catch the eye of the king. He in turn, quietly surveyed their upturned faces.
Perversely, his gaze settled on a minister who, unmarked by a flag, was standing quietly, reading a note. “Minister Diggins. Have you nothing you are bursting to say?”
The Minister of Farming, Fish and Food looked up from his note and inclined his head respectfully. “Nothing of any import Your Majesty. As we have no army to speak of, what alternatives do we have? Perhaps we could we raise a peoples’ army of farmers and fishermen? Then they could lend us a big net and we can gather these grelfon creatures in that.”
A few ministers responded with restrained laughter, and Vailin gave a rueful little smile. “I sincerely wish, Minister Diggins that the matter were so easily resolved.”
Glancing round the room Vailin noticed that the Minister of Defence who, up until now he had considered to be a complete waste of space, was practically dancing in his desire to be heard.
Vailin nodded towards him. “Minister Bellows. I think it best we hear you, before you have a fit of apoplexy.”
The Minister of Defence, a wiry man with a shock of unmissably ginger hair, stepped forward. In a quiet, almost wheedling voice which made a mockery of his name, he addressed the floor. “We still have a little less than a year. An army can be battle trained in much
less time than that. Besides, we do have a standing army, albeit a small one. They are good capable soldiers, willing and able to train recruits to their own high standard. I propose that, rather than rely solely on magic, we follow this course. Let us declare war on Naboria and show them that we won’t be so easily cowed by their evil doings.”
He was forced to pause while a cacophonous mix of hoots of derision and roars of approval echoed round the room. “Besides, I gather it has been discovered that there is a whole city out there, teeming with users of a vile magic called Vedric. What chance do two magicians, even if they are the country’s best, have against so many?”
To the accompaniment of further clamour the minister stepped back, his face flushed with exertion. The Prime Minister raised a hand for order. Vailin noticed that this time slightly fewer blue flags were in evidence. Breaking with tradition, the young king stood up and crossed the two short paces to the front of the dais.
He glared down, inwardly relishing the shock and surprise evidenced on the faces of some of the more dyed-in-the-wool traditionalists. “Let us get one thing straight, gentlemen. Our enemy is not Naboria. In fact, as recently as yesterday our spymaster presented me with a report. This makes it abundantly clear that our enemies are those who dwell in a city called Vedra, which lies somewhere out in the vast desert beyond the city of Nebir.” He paused to look round the crowded Council Chamber, making eye contact with none, but seeing all.