Mage Prime (Book 2)

by B. J. Beach

With Magnor standing half a dozen paces away with his huntsmen, Karryl raised his arms and re-cast the spell of transference. The arrow vanished, and the ghostly grelfon image faded away as if it had never been there.

  Karryl gave a satisfied smirk and picked his way over the churned-up snow to stand beside Magnor. “There. That’s done. Now, one last thing. Would you gather up bowman Parry and take him to the infirmary before you go back to wherever it is you go?”

  Magnor nodded. “That won’t be a problem. Where are you off to then?”

  Karryl flapped an arm in the general direction of Vellethen. “I want to see if Symon’s returned to the apartment. Hopefully he’s had time to get young Gilfric’s body in safe keeping and get back there. So, I’ll bid you good day, and thanks for your help. I don’t think we could have done it without you.”

  He stepped forward and held out his hand. Magnor and the huntsmen stared. The only sign of Karryl was his ill-defined footprints in the slush. He had vanished.

  Adrick looked all around, his eyebrows almost meeting in a puzzled frown. “I thought he was going to shake our hands.”

  Magnor sounded equally baffled. “So did I.” He held out his hand and passed it a few times over the spot where Karryl had been standing. His tone changed from bafflement to concern. “There’s no trace; nothing at all. It’s as if he was never here. I think we’d better gather up bowman Parry and take him back with us. There’s no time to waste. I think something’s gone badly wrong.”

  CHAPTER FIFTYSIX

  He felt suddenly very sick. Something was horribly wrong and as yet he couldn’t figure out what it was. All he knew was that nothing was as he expected it to be. Gazing slowly about him, he swallowed hard. How could anything have changed so much in such a short time?

  Knowing that Symon would more than likely be back by now, Karryl had decided to arrive outside the door of their apartment at the palace, then walk in and surprise the little magician. Instead, he stood and stared at the door whose furnishings he remembered gleaming against its rich dark red paint. Now, only faded blue paint flaked away under his fingers, the brass furnishings black with age and neglect. In a rare moment of indecision Karryl looked at the key, then at the door, before dropping the key back in his pocket and turning away. Heading down the interconnecting corridor, he was well on his way to the interior of the palace when he caught sight of one of the house-maids scurrying along ahead of him, a bundle of fresh linen in her arms. He called out to her. “Pardon me, miss. Can you help me?”

  The maid stopped and turned towards him, her eyes wide. Seeing Karryl’s cap and robe, she dipped a little curtsey. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  He didn’t recognise the maid, but she was very pretty. Karryl smiled. “Could you tell me where I might find Jobling?”

  Blushing slightly she pointed in the direction from which Karryl had just come. “This time of day he’ll most likely be in the kitchens, overseeing breakfast. Do you know the way sir?”

  Karryl smiled again and gave the maid a polite little bow. “Indeed I do, and I thank you for your assistance.”

  He turned around, and as he was about to enter the corridor that would eventually lead back to the kitchens, he looked back. The maid was still standing where he had left her, watching him with a very puzzled expression on her young face.

  He spotted Jobling as soon as he entered the kitchens. Dressed in a more conservative plain black, rather than his usual formal blue and gold livery, the major-domo was watching the bustling activities of cooks and potboys with an eagle eye. A wordless nod from one of the cooks drew his attention to Karryl standing in the doorway.

  The two men moved towards each other and Karryl gave a sigh of relief. “Aah! Jobling! Perhaps you can…”

  The epitome of polite calm, Jobling reached forward and placed a gentle but persuasive hand beneath Karryl’s elbow. “I’m sorry sir; visitors are not permitted to enter this area of the palace. Allow me to escort you.”

  Shock and disbelief registered on Karryl’s face as he jerked his arm away from Jobling’s touch. “What are you talking about? It’s me, Karryl!”

  Folding his hands behind his back, Jobling gave a small but respectful bow of his head. “There must be some mistake sir. To the best of my knowledge, we are not acquainted. Erm… are you here for the funeral?”

  Subjecting himself to a rapid series of mental athletics, Karryl began to realise that he had a problem, one which wasn’t helped by the fact that he had no idea of whose funeral Jobling was referring to. Barely hesitating, the young mage nodded and furrowed his brow. “Yes. A terrible business. It’s been a great shock for everyone.”

  Jobling nodded as he gestured towards the door. “Indeed sir. Everyone is grieving, not only in the palace, but throughout the land. Now, let me show you back to the south wing, where all our guests are being accommodated. Lady Evalin will be meeting everyone during the course of the day.”

  Karryl’s eyes glinted. “Ah! Lady Evalin. Yes. I really would like to speak with her. We have much to talk about, although the time is hardly appropriate.”

  Jobling seemed only mildly curious. “You know the Lady Evalin sir?”

  Karryl’s thoughts ran fast and smooth. “Yes. In fact, I’ve just come from Arinel.”

  One of the major-domo’s eyebrows lifted slightly but he said nothing more until they arrived at the wide arched doorway of the south wing. “Have you been allocated a room sir?”

  With only the minimum of information to work with, Karryl had already formulated a plan. He gave Jobling an ingenuous smile. “Not yet. I’ve been travelling all night and only just arrived.” Taking a step forward, Karryl lowered his voice as if sharing a confidence. “I was hoping to see Master Symon as soon as possible. Would you happen to know where he is?”

  Jobling gave a brief nod. “Indeed sir. He is where he has been since the tragedy occurred; he is the constant companion and comforter of the Crown Prince.”

  Something clicked into place in Karryl’s mind. The understanding that registered on his face was not, as Jobling thought, for Symon’s current situation, but for his own. Although he had transported himself to the right place, somehow an aberration had occurred during the transfer of the grelfon corpses, and taken him ten years back in time.

  The shock of realisation threatening to overwhelm him, the young mage took a deep breath, stood back and folded his hands in front of him. “Of course. That is only to be expected. Perhaps I shall have chance to meet up with him again later.”

  Apparently satisfied with that, Jobling opened the door. “Quite possibly sir. This way please.” As they strode along a broad corridor lined with tapestries and portraits draped with swags of black fabric, Jobling looked pointedly at the young mage. “Er… where is your luggage sir? I’ll have it brought to your room.”

  Karryl flicked a dismissive hand. “It’s following. It should be here soon, and I can see to it. There’s very little.”

  Jobling’s long face remained expressionless as he held open the door. “Very good sir.” He stood to one side as Karryl entered the room. “You will find an itinerary on the small table sir, and no doubt you will wish to rest after your journey. This afternoon, someone will be sent to escort you to the lying-in-state in the Great Hall, if that is your wish.”

  Almost, but not quite caught wrong-footed, Karryl paused before gathering his thoughts and turning slowly. The last few seconds had been enough time for the full truth of his situation to register, and his expression of sadness and regret was very real. “Yes, Jobling. It would haunt me all my days, should I fail in that duty.”

  The major-domo acknowledged with a bow and was about to leave, but stopped with one hand resting on the doorknob. “Excuse me sir, but you have me at a slight disadvantage. As I do not recall our ever having met, how did you recognise me?”

  Karryl gave him an unwavering look and a wry smile. “Lady Evalin described you perfectly.”

  Although Jobling kept his expression neutral, Karry
l formed the distinct impression that the man was not thoroughly convinced. As the door closed, Karryl pulled up a chair to the window, and sat down with a heavy sigh. He had a feeling that before too long, guards would be arriving and he would find himself a guest in one of the less appealing areas of the palace until after the funeral. Snatching up the itinerary, he quickly glanced through it, but as he wasn’t certain what day it was, he couldn’t be sure how long it would be before the ceremony took place.

  The absurdity of his situation began to make itself felt and he fought to maintain his composure. Calming himself in the infallible way Symon had taught him in the early days of his apprenticeship, Karryl stared out of the window as he quickly assessed the options open to him. He knew that he had little chance before the funeral of being able to contact Symon, or of being given the opportunity to try and convince someone of the rather unlikely truth of his situation. Anyway, if he was allowed to plead his case, who would possibly believe his story? It even sounded unlikely to him.

  Realising that his circumstances were certainly unique, Karryl was briefly torn between the necessity of getting out of this irrational situation as soon as possible, or taking the opportunity to reap whatever advantages might present themselves. His sharp hearing caught the soft sound of a shuffling thump, and he knew that should he open the door, he would almost certainly find a guard outside. Standing up, he quickly folded the itinerary, pushed it into his pocket, closed his eyes and concentrated. With no time to devise a better plan, he knew he was taking a big chance, but he had a sneaking feeling that this one might just work. He just had to be patient.

  CHAPTER FIFTYSEVEN

  The Great Hall was cold, despite the midsummer heat which was already turning the palace’s neat lawns to mats of brown straw. Standing beside the catafalque, her hands clasped in prayer, Lady Evalin gave a momentary shiver as she gazed into the sumptuously appointed coffin and contemplated the dead face of her king. Her shiver was not induced by the ambient temperature of the room, or by any indefinable repulsion engendered by the presence of a corpse. Something more recognisable and unexpected had brushed her skin, causing the fine hairs along her forearms to stand on end. She waited.

  The call was tinged with uncertainty. “Lady Evalin. Can you hear me? I need your help.”

  Only slightly alarmed, and definitely intrigued, she rested one hand on the rolled and padded edge of the coffin. “Who are you and where are you?”

  The uncertainty in the voice gave way to relief. “My name is Karryl. You don’t know me. Jobling has me under guard in one of the rooms of the south wing.”

  Suspecting that some magically talented foreign representative had overstepped the mark and roused Jobling’s ire, Lady Evalin drew her black veil back down over her face and removed herself to the point where the two long corridors of the south wing converged, forming a large ‘L’. The shorter limb lay straight ahead, but almost immediately she saw her ultimate destination, made obvious by two large and armed household guards standing at ease outside one of the doors near the far end of the longer corridor. As she approached, the guards snapped to attention and grounded their halberds in salute.

  She acknowledged their salute with a brief nod. “Thank you, gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to unlock the door I will interview our guest, in private.”

  There was no argument. One of the guards produced a long key from the pouch at his belt, unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lady Evalin cast a spell of shielding around herself, stepped through into the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

  Despite the grubby cream robe and the water-stained and scuffed sandals, Evalin immediately warmed to the dark-haired young man with the hopeful expression and lopsided smile of welcome. His dark eyes followed her as she glided across the room, seated herself by the window and lifted back her black veil.

  With her hands folded demurely in her lap she looked up at him, her smile putting him at ease, but her eyes telling him she would tolerate no nonsense. “Very well, Master Karryl. Will you be after sitting yourself in that chair there and telling me the whole story from the beginning?”

  Karryl pulled the chair nearer, already feeling a weight lifting as he heard Evalin’s familiar Arinish lilt. He sat down and then hesitated, as if he was unsure which part could justify being called the beginning. Evalin raised one eyebrow and gave him an encouraging nod. Karryl began, not from the very beginning, but from the point where he had first cast the transference spell on the grelfons in the Mudlin road. As he spoke, Evalin neither commented nor interrupted, simply studied his face, watched his expressive hands and listened carefully to the tone of his voice.

  When he had finished he leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Lady Evalin. I am in dire need of your help. Although you may find it hard to believe, we have already met on a number of occasions, but I know for certain that those meetings will not be in your memory.”

  She frowned, one forefinger against her chin. “You seem to know more than is healthy for you, young man. What reason should I be having for trusting you?”

  Karryl took a deep breath. “For just that reason. I know more than is healthy at this particular moment.” He paused, disconsolate. “If I can’t persuade you to help me, then my health will be the last of your concerns, or mine and anyone else’s for that matter.”

  There was a long pause as Evalin considered his words, and the young Mage-Prime found himself wondering whether he would remember this day’s unprecedented events when, or if, he eventually returned to his own time. The possibility that he might not be able to suddenly loomed large in his mind and his heart began to pound. Quickly employing a calming spell, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

  He leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on knees. “Without wishing to boast, Lady Evalin, I am the second Mage-Prime spoken of in the old stories. It has been irrefutably confirmed.

  Evalin leaned back in her chair and regarded Karryl for a minute or two, as if making a mental analysis of the bold statement and its web of implications. He waited, not caring to break the silence while Evalin continued to ponder. Eventually she stood up and began to pace the floor, her hands clasped behind her and her eyes cast downwards as if contemplating the colours of the fine rugs beneath her feet. Karryl remained seated and maintained his silence, only allowing his dark eyes to follow Evalin’s perambulations.

  As if she had come to a decision, she stopped in front of him and leaned forward. “After careful consideration of the small amount of information you have given me, it is quite clear, as it would be to anyone with even half a brain, that you have somehow managed to transport yourself backwards in time... but then, I’m sure you knew that anyway. And am I correct in surmising that certain matters occurring in your own time make it vital that you return as soon as possible?”

  Unsurprised by Evalin’s astuteness, Karryl nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. How much more would you like to know?”

  Evlin sat down and shook her head as she raised a restraining hand. “I’m thinking it would be of more benefit to us both if I knew as little as possible. You have already made it obvious to me that we are destined to meet again, but only if you are successful in returning within a certain space of time. It is also obvious that you are here by dint of some freakish and inexplicable accident.”

  Karryl threw up his hands in despair. “That’s just it! I don’t know how it happened. I’m certain I didn’t do anything different to the way I normally do it, but here I am in the midst of preparations for something that took place when I was only nine or ten years old!” He paused, his eyes widening with alarm. “Suppose I meet myself while I’m stuck here!” His voice trembled on the edge of panic. “Would I recognise me? I mean... would the younger me recognise the older me?”

  Evalin gave his shoulder a reassuring pat as she sat down to face him. “I’m thinking it would not be wise at this stage to ponder the likelihood of paradoxes. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, the sensible thing would have
been to immediately work the spell again, reversing the parameters as soon as you realised what had happened. It is my considered opinion that the longer you remain here, the more difficult it will be for you to return. As each minute goes by you are moving further away from the time/location nexus.”

  The calming spell couldn’t quite keep the panic from reaching Karryl’s eyes before he spoke. “At least I seem to have made one right move when I called on you. It seems that you know what you’re talking about.”

  Evalin could see that her response was not what Karryl had been expecting. “I wouldn’t count on that, young man. ‘Tis a field I have never ventured in to; in fact, I think no one has, it having always been considered impossible.”

  She stood up again from her chair and folded her arms, her mouth set in a tight grim line as she studied him for a few moments. Her next words shook him to the core. “I’ve no more idea of how it happened, or of how you could successfully return, than you do.”

  Before Karryl could think of anything to say, Evalin was halfway across the room. She turned and gave him a thin smile. “Until I can come up with a way to solve this, I suggest you stay here. I’m thinking that the fewer people who see you, the better. I’ll have some food sent in for you, and if circumstances dictate that you’re still here tomorrow, then it is imperative you do not attend the funeral. Do you understand?”

  Numbed, Karryl nodded, wanting to protest, but knowing it would be pointless. He stood as she left the room, then unable to think of anything better to do, kicked off his sandals and flopped down on the bed. With his hands behind his head he let his body relax into the comfort of the down pillows and quilt, closed his eyes and began a thorough assessment of his situation.

  CHAPTER FIFTYEIGHT

  He was drifting somewhere on the edge of sleep when a voice, echoing and distant brought him fully awake. “Karryl; can you hear me?”

  Thinking it might be Lady Evalin, he swung his feet off the bed and sat listening. This time the voice had lost its echo but still seemed distant. “Karryl; can you hear me?”