by Gray, C. M.
Tarent moved in to fill the gap, twisting free the two halves of his staff and cutting a skeleton in two with his first strike. A Ratten launched itself over the backs of its brethren, and gave a shrill cry as it fell down towards Tarent’s unprotected back. At the last moment he spun and sliced the creature in two, each half falling to the floor with a sickly thud. He glanced down to be sure it was dead then turned back to the horde still streaming down the corridor.
Quint was fighting the pain, clutching his arm. ‘We have to find somewhere safe,’ he managed to gasp, pushing himself up.
‘We can try to make for one of the towers,’ said Mahra. ‘We'll find fewer creatures towards the West Tower, let’s make for there.’ Quint staggered to his feet.
‘All right, I’ll help hold the east side with Loras - the rest of you move on as fast as you can - preferably before I faint.’ He held his injured arm to his side, gritted his teeth, and swung one-handed at the attackers as Loras sent bolts of energy, heating the Ratten’s armour, sending them shrieking and spitting in retreat. Mahra returned to the shape of the Panther and leapt at one of the rat-like fighters, shaking it viciously before pinning it to the ground to tear at its throat while it tried to stab a small knife repeatedly but ineffectually into her neck. It died quickly, before it could do much damage and she was swiftly up and smashing a skeleton to pieces with the swipe of a huge paw.
‘I’m going to move behind them,’ said Pardigan, sighting further down the corridor, before quickly place-shifting.
A huge whoosh filled his ears followed by a moment of feeling unsteady then saw he’d successfully shifted behind the attacking creatures. He let fly with two knives into the unprotected backs of the closest Ratten and they fell squealing and twitching to the floor. Pulling free his knives, he ran in to attack the few remaining skeletons. The combined force quickly dealt with the smaller group of creatures as Loras sent a ball of fire towards the larger group, driving them back. With the few moments of time that this bought them, they turned and fled for the west end of the corridor, and their departing friends.
Returning to her human form as she reached a large oak door, Mahra forced it open and yelled for them all to get in. Loras was last down the corridor, helping the staggering Quint. The door slammed shut as soon as they were in and a heavy metal bar was brought down with a clunk to secure it.
They slumped down to the floor panting and gasping, their senses straining to hear sounds from beyond the door, but the Academy was silent once again. Tarent moved to Quint and examined the blade lodged in his arm.
‘This thing is heavily barbed and is emanating some kind of evil, I can see it glowing red; we have to get it out.’ He studied Quint's pain-racked face. ‘This is going to hurt my friend, so brace yourself.’ As he poured in healing magic, Tarent slowly worked the blade loose. Thankfully Quint gave a small cry and fainted at the first touch. The blade came out and Tarent flung it into the corner in disgust before continuing his healing. When the wound stopped bleeding, amazingly it showed signs of healing until finally it became less angry and inflamed, Tarent stepped back exhausted and sunk down next to his patient. ‘We should let him rest for a while. Mahra, how about you and Loras going up into the tower?’ He pointed towards the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. ‘Pardigan, you may as well go with them, I’ll stay here with Quint. Don’t worry; I’ll call you if we have any more visitors.’
‘Is he going to be all right?’ asked Pardigan. ‘He looks very pale.’
‘Quint will be fine, he just needs rest and a little more healing.’ Tarent yawned and closed his eyes. Realising they could do nothing, the others moved off towards the staircase, leaving Tarent and Quint in the light of their glow globe.
The stairs were damp and slippery in places and their breath turned to white clouds in the chill air as they went up in an ever-tightening spiral. They began to feel giddy as it twisted and turned. It was a strange experience, almost like being a mouse running on a wheel going round and round. They were working hard but seemed to be going nowhere. Just as they were discussing if this was some magical illusion that would have them climbing without end, they came to a small landing and a large closed door.
‘Well this is it. It’s silly but I feel I should knock,’ said Mahra. ‘This was Magician Clement’s tower; he was such a nice old man.’ She took hold of the large metal handle and pushed, and with a creak of stubborn protest, the door slowly opened.
Moving inside they gazed around the chamber of a magician, dead for over a thousand years. The room was large, and round, with several small windows lit with the flashes of lightning and the more animated violent points of the storm raging outside. Around the edge of the chamber, illuminated in the light of the glow globes, were bookcases and shelves with jars and bottles holding different coloured powders and liquids, and row upon row of books. A central desk was strewn with papers and even more books and ledgers. Cobwebs and dust covered everything including a body sitting slumped forward onto the desk.
‘Magician Clement,’ cried Mahra, moving forward. ‘Oh poor poor, Magician Clement.’ She reached out to gently touch the frail shape in front of her while Loras and Pardigan gave her some privacy and walked around inspecting the variety of objects that were lying around.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ hissed Loras.
‘Me!’ said Pardigan indignantly. ‘It’s not me that’s the problem, Loras old friend, it’s you. Don’t you touch anything, all right?’
‘Yeah, yeah all right, neither of us touches anything,’ said Loras, reaching out to pick up a glass jar with what appeared to be blue liquid in it.
‘Loras…’ warned Pardigan.
‘Eeeeek!’ Mahra jumped back from the table. ‘He moved!’ The boys spun round and studied the dusty form still slumped headfirst on the desk.
‘What do you mean he moved?’ said Pardigan with a frown. ‘That’s one dead magician, Mahra. He has to have been dead for hundreds of…’
The figure at the table coughed.
Mahra jumped back. ‘See, he’s alive!’ Sure enough, the head started to lift and they heard the bones in his neck cracking as dust fell to the desk. The strange figure sat upright and gazed around, pale blue eyes peering out at them from behind a filthy mask of cobwebs. Blinking at the three figures before him he sneezed, sending up a cloud of dust and several startled spiders.
‘Oh, Mahra, it’s you,’ the figure croaked in a dry brittle voice. ‘I’m awfully sorry, I must have dozed off.’
‘Magician Clement, you’re alive!’ Mahra was weeping. ‘But how can you be alive?’ The old magician peered around confused and lifted a hand to pull aside the veil of cobwebs from his face.
‘Oh bugger!’ He tried to stand but fell back into the chair.
‘Oh bugger, bugger, bugger,’ he whined. ‘I suppose that Bleak thinks this is funny. Bugger!’ He thumped a bony fist onto the table sending up another cloud of dust which made him sneeze again. Gazing at Mahra, he smiled. ‘You wouldn’t make an old man a nice cup of brew would you, dear? My throat is feeling rather dry.’
****
Chapter 9
A Walk In The Dark
They had nothing to make a brew with. After more than a thousand years, anything that had once been edible or drinkable was nothing more than dust and memories now. Mahra helped the old magician to stand, his knees knocked a bit and he stood quivering, gazing about through blue watery eyes.
‘The bugger spelled me!’ he spluttered. ‘Bleak didn’t have the decency to believe I could ever be trouble for him, so he just spelled me to sleep without a second thought.’ He started to hop about testing his legs; clouds of dust flying up from his robes as he muttered about dark Magicians of Chaos and how they should ‘bloody well watch out!’ He made a comical sight and Pardigan and Loras weren’t sure whether to laugh at the old boy’s antics or feel sorry for him.
In the end Pardigan couldn’t help but chuckle when, with robes held up to his waist, the old magician
was hopping up and down from one leg to the other screaming out, ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ in a shrill angry voice. He turned to the laughing Pardigan. ‘Better watch yourself, boyo! I might have been asleep for a while but you shouldn’t mess with an angry old man who could very easily come up with an interesting curse or two!’ the last part was shouted right into Pardigan’s startled face.
Mahra shot Pardigan a nasty look and took the old magician by the arm, steering him away. ‘What happened Magician Clement, how did he trick you?’ The dusty old man sighed and fixed Mahra with a sad gaze.
‘Oh, I was an old fool who didn’t really take much interest in the politics of the Academy. Pew tried to warn me. Then we did that spell…’ he waved his arms in the air. ‘Well, after the spell…I came back here and continued with my studies.’ He gazed around and gave a little harrumph. ‘Now my studies are dust and that bugger spelled me. Just put me to sleep.’ He sat at his desk and absently doodled in the dust with his finger. ‘You were part of that spell weren’t you, Mahra? I mean…I remember that I taught you how to change into…’ he thought for a moment. ‘Some sort of bird and a cat too, if I remember rightly.’
‘An owl, a cat, and I taught myself how to become a Black Panther,’ said Mahra.
‘A Black Panther! Really.’ He patted her sleeve, smiling, then glanced over to where Pardigan and Loras still stood, too frightened to move. He raised an eyebrow and whispered, ‘These are the heroes? They don’t look like heroes.’ He peered out of the rain-streaked window at the sky as it boiled over the rolling storm-lashed ocean. ‘Although it looks very much as I suspected the end of time would look,’ he muttered, pulling thoughtfully on his beard.
Mahra smiled, ‘Yes, welcome to the end of time. These are two of the heroes, and now we have another…you!’
He gathered a few things as Mahra filled him in on recent events and with an appraising look at Loras, after hearing he was a fellow magician, he passed Loras a wooden staff, similar to the one he picked up for himself.
‘Heartwood, boy, holds magic and can give a nasty headache if you wop someone with it,’ he cackled, swinging his own staff about experimentally. ‘I’m going to wop Bleak with mine if I find him. Won’t catch me napping again, he won’t.’ He danced a little jig and held out his hand towards the staff that Loras now held. ‘Here…first spell’s on me.’ A blue glow filled the staff and Loras nearly dropped it. ‘Calm down, boy, calm down, it won’t burn you. Throw the staff over there,’ he pointed to a spot under the window. Loras happily threw the staff and it clattered to the floor. ‘All right, well done, now what’s its name?’ Magician Clement’s face loomed close to Loras who was wondering if the old boy had woken up as loopy as one of those crazy drunks in Market Square.
‘S-s-sorry? Its name, sir?’ Loras stammered.
‘Yes its name, it’s your staff now, so you’ve got to name it, then call it to you!’ He turned to Mahra shaking his head. ‘Didn’t his master teach him anything?’ He raised a dusty eyebrow, ‘Bit dim, is he?’
Loras blushed and raised his voice in command.
‘Staff, here!’ The staff leapt off the ground and flew into his outstretched hand. Loras grinned while Magician Clement gaped at him open-mouthed.
‘He called his staff…Staff! Well I never.’ He headed down the stairs and Mahra winked at the delighted Loras as they followed.
****
Once at the base of the tower, introductions were made as Magician Clement sat down heavily on the floor, staring back at the door he’d just stepped through.
‘By the Source I think Bleak added a few more stairs to my tower. I don’t remember there being that many.’ He glanced at Quint who was still sleeping deeply. ‘What’s the matter with this lad?' He held a wrinkled hand over Quint’s face. ‘Ah, the fighter of our heroes.’ He smiled with recognition. ‘Stabbed, and yes…partially healed, I believe. Where is the blade now?’ Tarent walked over and gingerly picked up the black blade from where he’d tossed it and brought it back to the old man. The magician held out his hand to take it, but stopped short, drawing back. ‘A Chaos blade,’ he whispered. ‘Very well, Chaos is balanced by Order, so to heal this Chaos wound we must cleanse it with energy of Order. Which you started to do quite successfully I see.’ He smiled at Tarent. ‘Would you mind if I finish your healing, young man?’
Tarent shrugged. ‘Of course not.’
‘If you place a hand upon my shoulder, and concentrate, I can show you how to increase your healing powers.’
Tarent did as he was bid and was joined by Loras. They started to feel what the old magician was doing and within seconds Quint was awake, staring up at them with a shocked expression. Loras introduced Magician Clement.
‘Good day to you, fighter, it’s good to see that little harm has come to you.’ Mahra helped the old magician to his feet. ‘Thank you, dear. Come, let’s be off, I’m eager to see Pew’s tower and to help in your tasks, for it looks as though I’m to be one of you heroes myself.’
They moved carefully out into the gloom once more, the old magician chuckling happily about being one of the heroes. Halfway along the second corridor he asked them to wait and disappeared into a doorway. He appeared a few moments later carrying a shining shirt of chain mail.
‘Here, put this on and we may be able to keep you out of harm’s way a little longer,’ he passed the shirt to Quint. ‘It was ancient when I was a student here. Legend claims it was made by some long-forgotten race and would stop any blade, or indeed any arrow. You’ll have to let me know if that’s true in a few weeks’ time,’ he added, amused again by his own wit. ‘Oh I am enjoying being awake again.’ His face creased in a frown. ‘Or at least I would be if I could get a nice cup of brew to set me up.’
Quint slid the mail over his head and was surprised at how light it was. Pardigan helped him tie it in place.
‘Very nice,’ said Pardigan. ‘Now if those rat things come back we’ll be able to push you right to the front then all hide behind you.’ Quint cuffed him around the head.
They continued down the corridor, eventually arriving at an identical door to the first tower. Stepping inside they bolted it then started up the narrow staircase. Quint led, and Magician Clement took up the rear, claiming that after a thousand years he would probably be slower than the rest of them.
Once again, the climb seemed to take forever, but then, as they neared the top they began to hear murmurs and talking coming from within the tower's chamber. A loud ringing filled the air as swords and knives were drawn then Quint opened the door and sprang through with the others close behind ready to do battle. However, the scene that greeted them wasn’t one they had expected. The talking abruptly stopped and a hush descended as the group took in their surroundings.
Skulls covered every available surface in a variety of different sizes and colours - most were bone, some were metal and a few were made of glass.
‘Well, about time too,’ said one of the skulls from its place on top of a shelf.
‘We’ve been waiting ages for you!’ said another.
The Griffin’s crew stood in amazement, as every skull started to speak at the same time, trying to be heard above the rest. The noise soon became deafening.
‘Could you please move me; I’m tired of this position?’
‘This fool keeps babbling nonsense in my ear; desist! He’s still doing it. Stop, I say!’
‘As I was saying the other day…’
‘Liquorice - did they bring liquorice? I’ve had a hankering for a nice piece of liquorice for ages.’
‘You can’t eat liquorice; you’ve no stomach for it, haaaaaaaa haaa!’
‘I said it would be today, didn’t I say they would come today?’
Some were moaning, some were singing, but most were trying to get the visitors’ attention with questions and comments; the noise was unbearable.
‘Silence!’ bellowed Magician Clement who, after finally making the top of the stairs, had entered the chamber.
‘Bit loud, isn’t he!’
‘Who does he think he is, eh?’
The noise returned, this time, with sounds of laughter joining in.
‘I said silence and I mean silence!’ Magician Clement banged his staff on the floor several times then walked around, peering closely at the skulls. ‘Bleak's work this is, all stained with Chaos.’ The noise reduced to a low murmur for a moment…it didn’t last.
‘He’s looking at me.’
‘He said you were stained, are you stained?’
‘He was talking to you!’
‘No he was not!’
The noise picked up again, becoming deafening as, once again, each skull fought to be heard above its neighbours.
‘Don’t let him get too close, we don’t know him yet!’
‘Well I don’t think he’s being very nice.’
The skulls’ chatter ebbed slightly but didn’t stop; it seemed they were unable to do anything else. Pardigan stepped forward.
‘We seek the skull that links to Magician Pew,’ he shouted.
‘That’s me, that’s me!' cried just about every skull in unison.
‘Nice try, lad,’ murmured Magician Clement when the noise had once again abated.
They started searching for anything obvious that could help them. The shelves, desk, windowsills, the bed and a good part of the floor, were covered in chattering skulls.
‘This is hopeless,’ screamed Mahra over the noise. ‘How are we meant to find the right one amongst all these?’
‘There’s one here that says he knows which skull we’re looking for, and if we take him with us he’ll introduce us,’ shouted Pardigan, but he didn’t sound very convinced.
‘Yes and there’s one here that claims it’s the one we want, but it keeps trying to bite me, so I think it’s lying.’ Tarent dodged back from its snapping jaws.
‘There it is!’ shouted Loras, pointing up to the top of a shelf. He started to clamber over several chairs and shelves pushing skulls out of the way as he went, apologising profusely to the complaints and gnashing teeth that followed his progress. The others stood back and watched his efforts, hoping he was right. As Loras touched a glowing blue skull, the others stopped whatever they had been saying and froze mid-sentence; hundreds of jaws clicked shut at the same time; the silence was deafening. Loras looked down at his friends. ‘Well I think this must be the one if it shut that lot up.’ He carefully picked up the skull and brought it down to the table. It was crystal and pulsating with a steady blue light. ‘It was the only one,’ he explained. ‘Everything else, like the knife and the book has done the same thing with a strange blue light, so it was a fair guess that it was the magician's skull.’