Mage Prime (Book 2)

by B. J. Beach

  Rendered speechless, Alfric gave his king a silly grin revealing crooked, gappy teeth, dropped his hat on the floor again, sketched a hasty bow, gathered up the hat and scurried towards the door by which he had entered. When he was sure Master Gibb had the rustic safely on the other side of the door, Vailin exploded into laughter.

  Shoulders and head shaking, he turned to Evalin. “I know this is no time for levity, but what a character that man is. And where in the world is Mudlin?” His expression altered in an instant and he stood up abruptly. “That’s if there still is a Mudlin! They’ve had a grelfon rampaging around up there for the best part of a day.”

  Loosening the fastenings of his robe as he went, Vailin headed for his office, not even pausing to see whether Evalin was following.

  The heavy fur-trimmed robe ended up on the floor as Vailin entered to find Master Gibb there before him. “I have provided Alfric Pea…”

  “Not now, Gibb! A messenger, at once please!”

  Gibb darted into a corner and tugged on a heavy corded red bell-pull. Vailin dropped into a chair and looked around. Evalin had not accompanied him into the office. The door opened and a guard admitted a slightly built, wiry youth of about sixteen years of age. Blue eyes shone below thick corn coloured hair, pulled back into a neat queue at the nape of his neck. Bowing in Vailin’s direction, the messenger tugged briefly at his dark green tabard.

  He snapped stiffly to attention as Vailin stood up and crossed the room. “Do you have a good memory lad?”

  The young messenger nodded vigorously. His words rolled out on a soft rural burr. “Yes I do, sire. Any message, however long, I can repeat word for word.”

  Vailin looked at Master Gibb who nodded briefly as he handed him a King’s warrant.

  Holding it out to the messenger, Vailin looked hard into his face. “You are to give this to Captain Vintar with instructions to use it as he sees fit. He is to take as large an armed squad as he can muster, the whole barracks if he thinks it necessary, and make a forced march to a place called Mudlin. On no account are they to take any horses. Is that clear? You are to tell him another one has arrived. He will understand. I only hope he knows where Mudlin is.”

  Looking rather worried, the messenger took the warrant from Vailin. “Begging your pardon sire, but is there trouble in Mudlin? You see, that’s where I come from. I know exactly where it is and the quickest way to get there.”

  Vailin gave the youth a grim smile. Briefly he outlined what he had learned of the day’s events.

  When he had finished he turned a stern gaze on the young messenger. “So yes, there is trouble in Mudlin. You shall act as a guide for Captain Vintar and his men, but when you arrive you are to remain on the village outskirts for your own safety. That is an order.” He held out a hand to his secretary. “Sash please, Master Gibb.”

  A narrow, gold coloured sash was produced from a drawer. Vailin slipped it over the messenger’s head and settled it across his shoulder and chest. “You are now easily recognisable as the King’s messenger. Go now, as fast as you can.”

  The youth spun round and dashed for the door. Vailin called after him. “What’s your name lad?”

  The messenger looked over his shoulder. “Gilfric sire. Gilfric Peasemold.”

  Then he was gone.

  CHAPTER FORTYSIX

  The first thing Karryl noticed when he woke was his ordinary clothes and boots piled neatly beside him. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on sand with his head resting on his arm. Blinking his eyes, he lifted his gaze and spent a while looking at the blue-grey ocean some fifty paces away, before realising that his cream-coloured hat had fallen off and come to rest near the back of his outstretched hand. Picking up the hat, he scrambled to his feet, pushed the hat onto his dark, shoulder-length hair, and looked about him.

  He cast up a thought. “Is it over? Can I go home now?”

  He waited but there was no reply. Brushing the fine silvery-white sand off his new robe, he gathered up the pile of clothes and boots, tied them securely with his belt and slung the bundle over his shoulder. Two paces away, the sheer cliff face soared above him until it was obscured by a greenish mist lazily flowing and drifting in a gentle breeze. With one more glance at the barely rippling water Karryl turned his attention to the rock face. He had been returned to a spot near one end of the beach, where the face angled round until the rock jutted out into the ocean like a giant wedge. In the other direction it stretched for hundreds of paces, a massive grey bulwark curving round in the far distance to commune with the blue-green water.

  Karryl started to walk slowly along the beach, his eyes fixed firmly on the rock face as he searched for the tunnel entrance from which he and Dhoum had emerged. Occasionally he looked around on the sand in the hope of finding an unusual shell or coloured pebble he could keep as a souvenir, but the beach was flat and featureless, it’s pristine whiteness unmarred by even the smallest scrap of seaweed. The tide gently ebbed as he walked. By the time he had reached the end of the beach he could see a narrow margin of sand barely wider than one of his feet that the retreating water had exposed at the base of the jutting stanchion of rock. He turned round to look back once more along the beach, in the hope he could catch sight of the tunnel entrance, or perhaps see Dhoum barrelling along the sand towards him. All that met his gaze was his own slightly irregular line of indistinct footprints leading to where he stood. Uncertain of when the tide would turn again, he shifted his bundle to the other shoulder before placing one foot on the narrow strip of sand. Supporting himself with one hand against the solid rock he began carefully making his way, heel against toe, around the massive outcrop. He soon discovered that it was not as he had first thought, a giant wedge with its sharp end in the ocean which he could quickly sidle round. Instead it appeared as if the end of the wedge had broken off, quite cleanly but at an angle, somewhere near the middle. Pausing for a moment he debated in his mind whether to turn back or keep going. Curiosity won hands down over common sense and he resumed his slow and careful traverse along the base of what, he realised now, could only be a mountain. His progress speeded up as he fell into a rhythm, and a little less than half an hour brought him to the side of the wedge. Quickly, he rounded the corner to put more of the beach between him and the ocean. His bundle at his feet, he leaned against the rock face and stared.

  About two hundred paces away, nestled into the side of a rocky seaward-facing bluff, was a small cluster of what appeared to be fisher-folk cottages. Halfway between him and the cottages a small boat was drawn up on the beach. Beside it a stocky, bearded man was standing staring back at him. With a great sigh of relief Karryl smiled, picked up his bundle and started to walk towards him. A heartbeat later the man began to run, yelling at the top of his voice, towards the cottages. Dumbfounded Karryl watched as the man neared the top of the beach. Just before reaching the bluff he dodged into a jumble of massive boulders and out of sight, his near hysterical shouts carrying across to Karryl on a gentle off-shore breeze. Not wanting to cause any further disturbance, Karryl set off once more in an unhurried amble along the broad shell-strewn beach, stopping briefly on the way to take a closer look at the boat and admire its craftsmanship. Eventually arriving at the accumulation of boulders which towered far above his own head, Karryl saw a narrow pathway of hard-packed sand and small stones. Barely wide enough for one person, it ran between the boulders and disappeared. Karryl stepped onto the path.

  The warding was a simple one, hastily constructed, and Karryl wondered why it was there. Appreciative of the fact that these apparently simple folk had at least a modicum of magical ability, he traced the strands of the warding and carefully dismantled it. Slowly he continued along the path, giving little credence to the thought he might be walking into a trap. The path meandered, obviously using convenient gaps between the rocks rather than following any kind of practical design. Once or twice Karryl detected the slightest frisson of magic use. He smiled to himself as he continued to follow
the narrow haphazard path. Rounding a massive boulder he found himself face to face with a blank rock wall. It was a dead end. He looked up. Far above him, framed by a small patch of off-white sky, two faces peered down. Neither was the man from the beach.

  Karryl figured he had two options. He could turn round and go back, which could possibly be what they wanted. The other was the one he decided he would take. Aware that his powers had been greatly enhanced, he drew in what he judged to be enough and began the spell. To the watchers above he would have appeared to be standing and thinking, until his feet left the ground and he began to rise smoothly up towards them. The faces vanished. Karryl could hear the clamour of a number of raised voices and the soft thudding of running feet. Head and shoulders clear of the ground he temporarily halted his ascent and looked about him, holding a protective shield spell ready in case some local hero decided to dash forward and attempt to kick him in the teeth. It was an unnecessary precaution. A group of about twenty short, stocky men and women had formed themselves into a semicircle about ten paces away. Each one’s hands clasped in front of their chest, they stared at him in undisguised delight.

  Completing his ascent, Karryl stepped forward a couple of paces, placed his bundle slowly on the ground and smiled back. “Good morning. I am Karryl.”

  The response to this was a long, almost rapturous co-ordinated moan, within which Karryl thought he heard his name spoken over and over. One of the men stepped forward from the centre of the semicircle and Karryl’s heart gave a lurch. He found it difficult not to stare. The man wore an oddly shaped hat made of some kind of reddish-brown fur, but it was something else which held Karryl’s attention. On a short golden chain around his neck was the medallion.

  Tapping himself on the chest the man said “Slanvir” then indicated that Karryl should follow him. The awed and now silent semicircle parted in the middle to let them through. Picking up his bundle, Karryl gave the man what he hoped was a friendly smile and nodded his consent. At that moment, two young women barely out of their teens darted out to stand one on each side of him. Arms outstretched, their blue eyes pleading, it was obvious that they wished to carry the bundle of clothing. One of them, though not the prettiest, had golden hair and reminded him a little of Aenys, so he gave the bundle to her. Something akin to triumph flashed in her eyes. With the bundle held across her out-stretched forearms like a sacred offering, she took position a pace or two in front of him and proceeded to lead him after the man who wore the medallion.

  After crossing a wide stretch of soft springy turf they turned onto a shingle path leading in a perfectly straight line away from the bluff and its little cottages, upwards into the interior. After about half an hour of unhurried walking, Slanvir stepped off the path onto a narrow track leading upwards to his left. He beckoned Karryl to follow. The young woman moved to one side to let Karryl pass, then sat down on a flat, weatherworn rock, holding Karryl’s clothes reverently in her lap.

  Deciding to try and find the answer to something which had been puzzling him, Karryl looked down at her. “Are you not coming with us?”

  She simply gazed up at him adoringly, but said nothing. Karryl felt he had his answer. He had been made welcome by a people whose language he didn’t even know. Looking up, he saw his guide waiting further up the track.

  Slanvir called out to him, something that sounded like “Komma, Karryl, fildja.” and Karryl’s suspicions were confirmed.

  He started off up the track after Slanvir. The stocky man now seemed to be in a hurry and Karryl lengthened his stride. Littered with small pieces of broken rock, the apparently little used track became steeper, and Karryl’s sandals slithered intermittently on treacherous loose scree. Over time a little rill had cut a deep but narrow channel across the path and now trickled busily through, before disappearing under a low overhanging rock. The echoing metallic sound of tumbling water betrayed the location of a natural cistern some way below.

  Karryl stepped over the rill, catching up with his waiting guide near a point where the track stopped in front of an apparently endless rock face, its head lost within the greenish mist drifting far above. As he moved to one side, Slanvir touched his oddly-shaped hat, grinned broadly and pointed. Karryl moved to stand beside him until he could see what was not visible from the track. Marring the grey-green smoothness of the rock face was a narrow, tapering vertical cleft, about twice as high as he was tall and just wide enough at the bottom for a grown man to slip through sideways. Still grinning, the stocky man began to squeeze himself into the cleft. Beckoning, he repeated the phrase he had used earlier. Karryl’s extra height and the taper in the narrow cleft meant his face was uncomfortably close to the rock as he sidled through, his hands flat against the wall behind him. A sideways glance to where the daylight filled the entrance told him the cleft was at least ten paces deep. He breathed a sigh of relief when his face broke proximity with the rock and he was able to step into a place where he had room to move.

  A tiny glow began to bob around to Karryl’s left. He watched it float slowly round at just above his head height, gradually increasing until it had quadrupled in size, although it was still rather dim. By its feeble light Karryl could see they were in a large cave, although there was insufficient light to make out any features or details. At the risk of offending his still grinning host, Karryl caught the light with a simple holding spell and quickly assessed its construction. It was, to all intents, the Light of Perimus, but certain elements were missing. He had heard nothing when the light appeared, and he knew it was impossible to make it correctly without vocalising the complex series of precisely pitched notes. Beginning with the long, low, soft humming, Karryl worked his way through the spell. As the light doubled in size and grew considerably brighter he was able to observe Slanvir’s reaction. His guide was looking around him open-mouthed in wonderment, not only at the power of Karryl’s magic but also at the sight, until now only dimly glimpsed, which met their eyes.

  The cave was perfectly circular, about twenty paces in diameter and the height of four tall men. To one side near the top, Karryl could just make out what appeared to be some kind of dark, chimney-like opening, leading upwards. It was not this which held his attention. Near the back of the cave two figures stood side by side. Although he recognised one of them immediately, they both stared at him unmoving as he slowly stepped forward. It was only as he drew closer he realised that the figures, although incredibly lifelike, were of carved and painted wood. Slanvir moved to stand beside the taller of the two. Grinning and nodding, he pointed, first at Karryl then at the carved figure. The young magician could see why.

  Although the facial features bore only a faint resemblance, the height and proportions matched his own. Karryl would have put that down to sheer coincidence, were it not for the fact that the robe and hat on the painstakingly carved figure matched the ones he was wearing, though rather more worn and faded. Slowly shaking his head, Karryl studied the wooden figure for a moment before turning his attention to the expertly carved figure of a Grrybhñnös which stood beside it. The face and form bore a striking resemblance to Dhoum, which Karryl thought quite understandable, but the long skilfully defined hair had been painted in a warm golden colour. This figure too had been dressed in a cream coloured robe, a band of sigils painted in dark blue dye around its lower edge.

  After studying them for a while longer, Karryl looked up and beyond the figures to the wall behind them. First he stared then he smiled. Obviously pleased by this reaction, Slanvir moved to stand beside him, looking up eagerly into his face and nodding. With a hand on Slanvir’s shoulder Karryl steered him round the wooden magician to a spot closer to the wall. Drawing the Light of Perimus a little lower Karryl slowly let his gaze move from side to side. Along its entire length, and up to a height which was probably the limit of Slanvir’s reach, the wall was covered in richly coloured drawings. Karryl bent to take a closer look at one in particular which had first caught his eye. It was a drawing of the medallion.


  Reaching out, Karryl gently lifted the one Slanvir was wearing, and pointed to the wall. “Did you do these?”

  Although Slanvir grinned and nodded vigorously, Karryl was pretty certain he hadn’t understood. He threw out what he hoped was a loud thought. “I could do with some help here.”

  “All right, you don’t have to shout. I am rather intrigued as to how you managed to make yourself heard through an entire mountain though.”

  The voice was that of the original entity, for which Karryl was rather thankful. This one was rather more affable and seemed to be more forthcoming with information.

  Carefully, Karryl framed his question. “Is there something I can do, some kind of enchantment that will make it possible to talk to these people? There are so many things I want to ask them. Unless, of course, you have the answers.”

  There was a long silence, during which Karryl peered closely at another drawing, next to the one of the medallion.

  To Karryl’s surprise, the entity sounded baffled. “Sorry, I haven’t any information about what’s going on down there, until I do some research. I just had a quick look through your eyes, but either it was before my time, or someone else dealt with it. Anyway, you should be able to talk to these people now, but only for as long as you stay on the island. Just say what you want to and it will come out in their language.”

  Sensing that the entity had broken contact, Karryl turned to Slanvir. The man was watching him closely, his bright grin replaced by a mystified frown.

  The young magician gave him a reassuring smile as he indicated the medallion. “Slanvir, where did you get this?”

  Seeming rather startled, either by the question or by Karryl’s ability to speak his language, Slanvir pointed to the wooden Grrybhñnös. “Quaxlor gave it to us so that we would remember. Now that you have returned, are you going to take it away?”