by B. J. Beach
Back on all fours, Dhoum ambled over to stand beside the young Mage-Prime. “Pick your spot. You should have more than enough power by now to get up there easily.”
Karryl nodded. “I’ll go first. I dread to think what would happen if we both decided on the same spot.”
The russet fur rippled across Dhoum’s shoulders. “Not very likely. We’ll link and go together. You focus and I’ll do the shifting.”
Before Karryl could think of a good reason why not, Dhoum’s strong hand was gripping his wrist. Quickly choosing a wide clear space between two huge monolithic boulders, he nodded to Dhoum. Away from the shelter of the tiny secluded beach, a warm wind tossed the heads of cliff-top wildflowers, and riffled hair and fur.
The pair were already hurrying towards the great birds as Ekha’s soft, almost purring voice entered Karryl’s mind. “It is good to be with you both again, although we would have wished for more joyous circumstances.”
Lamak cut in. “I sense that there remains no time to lose. Master Karryl, you will ride on Ekha’s back. Dhoum and I have a different arrangement born of necessity and perfected over many years. We will all meet on the seaward hillside below the palace.”
Crouching low, Ekha remained perfectly still as, with some trepidation Karryl eased his long frame over her outstretched wings and onto the broad golden-brown back.
Hastening to allay his fears, Ekha’s tone was unperturbed. “You will not hurt me Master Karryl. Just move as normal and lie low and flat along my back. Keep your head down”
As Ekha extended her massive wings in readiness for flight, Karryl risked a glance between the black-plumed shoulders. There was no sign of Lamak or Dhoum. Despite the initial nagging fear that he might slide off and tumble hundreds of feet to a painful and messy end, to his surprise Karryl found himself being shaken awake by a highly amused Dhoum. As if riding on a Lammergeyer was the most normal thing in the world, Karryl sat up straight, stretched and yawned. He vaulted lightly onto the ground beside Dhoum and guessed the unmistakeable image of a baby rocking peacefully in a downy cradle came from Lamak.
The great bird’s mellow baritone flowed into their minds. “Momentous times lie ahead. Our kind are prepared. We shall not return to Alith until the events of these days have passed.”
A dozen questions filled Karryl’s brain as Dhoum grabbed a handful of his robe, pulling him back out of range as the two birds lifted into flight. Raising their hands in farewell, Mage and Grrybhñnös teetered, the powerful down-draught from broad wings setting robes flapping and tossing hair and fur into wild disarray. They watched them far into the cloudless sky and out over the sea, until a shout rang out from further up the hill in the direction of the palace. Karryl and Dhoum turned.
Her dark hair flying behind her, Lady Evalin was hurrying towards them, two guards in half-armour finding it necessary to jog in order to keep up with her uncommon haste. Having already abandoned the pursuit, the diminutive figure of Symon eagerly followed at an accelerated amble. After a brief exchange of glances, Karryl and Dhoum set off up the hill towards the little procession. It was only when they were a few feet apart that Karryl began to get the feeling that the warm welcome he at least, had been anticipating, was not going to happen. It was obvious Evalin’s rapid approach was fuelled, not as he had first thought by exhilaration, but indignation. The hard glint in her eyes spoke volumes.
Suddenly, Karryl wished he was back on the secluded little beach enjoying the morning sunshine and eating clams. A cursory glance was all Evalin afforded Dhoum as she stopped little more than a pace distant. Her taut face revealed controlled fury as, arms folded she turned her full attention on Karryl. The Mage-Prime had had enough. Before she could utter a word Karryl held up a hand to forestall her. Dark eyes narrowed, he took a short step forward, a humourless smile curving his mouth.
His tone was uncompromising, his voice low. “Lady Evalin. I am tired and uncomfortable. My clothes are filthy, my bones ache, and my empty stomach is protesting. At this moment I feel as much like dealing with you as walking barefoot on hot coals. I bid you good-day.”
He felt a little surge of inner satisfaction as her eyes glinted, her lips close to disappearing in a tight grimace. In the time it took her to draw breath, Karryl had drawn power. He vanished without as much as a shimmer. With a toss of her head and a scowl at Dhoum, Evalin turned and stormed back up the hill towards the palace, the stern-faced guards jogging in her wake.
Dhoum waited while Symon caught his breath. “Did you hear?”
Symon nodded, his grey eyes twinkling. Dhoum clasped his hands and studied the ground at his feet. “Could be our Mage-Prime has been pushed too far.”
The corners of the magician’s mouth twitched downwards as he raised an eyebrow. He glanced up the hill at Evalin’s rapidly retreating figure. “Have you been summoned?”
Dhoum shook his head and Symon gave a nod of satisfaction. “Then perhaps you would care to accompany me to our apartment. No doubt we shall find the Mage-Prime either in a hot tub or raiding the larder.”
A pile of grubby, crumpled clothes outside the bathroom door and the sound of vigorous splashing from within, confirmed Symon’s guess. Beckoning Dhoum into the kitchen, Symon filled the kettle and placed it on the hob. By the time Karryl wandered in, the appetising aroma of lamb casserole filled the air and Symon and Magnor were sitting at the table, armed with large mugs of tea. Grinning widely at them both, the Mage-Prime ran his fingers through his shock of towel-dried hair, poured himself a mug of tea and dropped heavily onto a vacant chair.
He peered at Magnor over the rim of his mug. “I hope I didn’t cause you any embarrassment back there. If I’d stayed any longer I’m pretty certain it would have developed into an all-out slanging match.”
He took a large gulp of his tea and placed the mug firmly on the table. “In my book Lady Evalin is responsible for everything. If she hadn’t insisted on my returning by ship none of this would have happened, and I would be well on the way to finding the final answers to the mystery. As it is, three valuable days have been wasted.”
Magnor looked thoughtful as he drummed his fingers on the table. “It could turn into four if Vailin decides to summon us to the palace tomorrow.”
Karryl reached out and snatched at his mug of tea. “Well. He’ll have to summon away. I’ve got work to do, he knows it, and he also knows what hangs on the outcome.”
The edge on Symon’s voice quelled Karryl’s indignation. “Have you thought any more about my suggestion that you delegate?”
The young magician grimaced and shook his head. “As much as I’d like to I can’t do that. To be quite honest I’m afraid of what might happen if I let the book or the scroll out of my sight.”
Symon’s eyebrows shot up as he pressed a finger to his chin. “I’d forgotten about the scroll!”
Magnor leaned forward. “What scroll is that?”
Karryl took a quick sip of his tea before standing up from the table. “A small scroll I found on Keril’s body. I managed to get it out of its case and retrieve a necessary spell, but that’s all.” He gave Symon a meaningful look. “I’ll go and get it. Perhaps we can make a start on the rest of it together.”
46 - Translating the Scroll
Two hours later, Mage-Prime, magician and Grrybhñnös were no further forward.
Although written in Keril’s clear script, apart from one spell the language was one with which none of them were familiar. Hoping for instant answers, all Karryl could feel was frustration and disappointment. He had a feeling that all the answers lay locked in these few paragraphs. All he had to do was find the key, and as yet he had absolutely no idea where to begin looking for it. Standing by the empty fireplace he stared down at the hearth, his mind a turmoil of conflicting thought. In a mood totally alien to his character, a distinctly morose Symon sat, chin in hands, gazing at a spot near the centre of the table. Sturdy legs braced apart, hands clasped behind his back, Magnor stood motionless and gazed out the
window.
“A translator.”
Karryl looked across the room as Magnor turned slowly, and thoughtfully regarded the white-haired magician. “Pardon?”
Shifting his gaze from the spot on the table, Symon looked at each of his companions in turn, a quiet smile drifting across his mouth. “The scroll; I think it’s a translator.”
Plonking himself down in the chair opposite, Karryl rested his arms on the table. “How can it be a translator when we don’t know what it language it is in the first place?”
The little magician raised a bushy eyebrow. “Well, it seems to me that Keril must have thought that we, or at least the Mage-Prime, would know what it said.”
Karryl scratched his head. “Well. I’ve stared at it over and over and it still means nothing to me.”
The smile renewed itself on Symon’s face. “I think you had already convinced yourself that you wouldn’t understand it before you even started. You have far too many other things to think about. It might be an idea if you took another look.”
The young Mage-Prime’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “What? That won’t change anything.”
Symon shook his head in mock despair. “You aren’t thinking; at least not to your full capacity. Keril was Mage-Prime. He knew his words would end up in the hands of another Mage-Prime, and he also believed that this one would understand and know what steps to take.” Symon’s expression darkened. “Now I think it’s time you started thinking like one.”
Folding his hands he looked over the top of them at Karryl’s perplexed expression. After a few moments during which Karryl gazed at the same spot on the table, Symon received his reward.
His dark brown eyes alight, a grin spread slowly across Karryl’s face. “We…I…should have thought of it that before!”
Magnor’s deep voice rumbled from the direction of the window. “Thought of what?”
The Mage-Prime favoured him with a silly grin. “A spell of translating of course! On the scroll! Hopefully it will turn the writing into something we can understand.”
Karryl pushed back his chair and darted across the room to the shelf on which the scroll had been abandoned. He snatched it up and began to unroll it as fast as he could without risking any damage to the ancient parchment. With a small star-stone paper-weight at each corner, the ancient scroll appeared almost innocuous, lying in the centre of Karryl’s large desk.
The two magicians exchanged glances, then Symon folded his hands and gave a slight shake of his head. “I think this one’s all down to you.” He gestured towards Magnor. “If either of us attempt anything in the way of assistance, it may well have an adverse effect.”
The little magician eyed the stretched out scroll. “I’d be inclined to use a general multilingual first and see what happens.” He chuckled and raised his hands as Karryl gave him an old-fashioned look. “Just a thought.”
Focussing on the closely written and surprisingly still dark writing, Karryl let a quick resumé of half a dozen spells flow swiftly through his agile mind, before deciding on the one which best suited his purpose. Drawing in very little of the tremendous reserve of power now available to him, he placed his index finger on the first line of text. Recognised as a touching spell, the translation would have been totally ineffective had Karryl attempted his normal mode of spell-casting by mental power alone.
Mage-Prime and magicians watched with some trepidation as the words on the parchment began to shimmer and re-form. In less than a minute the entire document had been temporarily re-written. If the spell had worked satisfactorily and substituted a language either Karryl or the two magicians knew, they would have only a few hours in which to work with the scroll before the words resumed the language in which they were written. It was too much to hope that the substitute language would be Albitan. It wasn’t.
Carefully lifting the rare star-stones, Karryl took one end of the scroll in each hand and lifted it slowly from the desk. Disbelief fell across his handsome features like a dark shroud. “Well, it didn’t work the way I expected it to. It’s still unreadable! What language is this?”
Taking the scroll from Karryl’s hand, it took only a cursory glance for Symon to realise that he too was unable to recognise the strange words. Magnor moved away from the window to look over Symon’s shoulder.
He gave a non-committal grunt. “Hmm. A few of the words look familiar, but I can’t really place it. Must have been a long time ago, or a passing acquaintance with the language.”
With a shake of his head he moved back to resume his gazing out of the window. Mouth set in determination, Karryl set the parchment back on the desk and replaced the star-stones. Once again he placed his long forefinger on the first line of words. Choosing a slightly different spell, and drawing a little extra power he began, knowing even as he did so that this particular spell was risky. There was a danger that at least part of the scroll may become obliterated or even worse, destroyed. However, if it worked the text should transform into a familiar language he could work with, and again he hoped for one of the five Telorian languages, preferably Albitan.
This time the scroll itself trembled, gentle vibrations easing it from beneath the security of the star-stone weights as the words danced and shimmered. The spell complete, Karryl made a grab for the parchment before it snapped into its age old form of a tightly wound scroll. He stared, horrified and sickened. The only two multi-lingual spells had now been used and he realised he was no further forward. A dreadful feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach, that everything had probably gone backwards. The words stared back at him, mocking and taunting. Not only was he once more faced with an impossibly unfamiliar language, but the script too had drastically changed, becoming a heavily flourished calligraphy interspersed with tiny marks and symbols. Groaning inwardly, Karryl handed the scroll to Symon, shrugging hopelessly as Magnor turned away from the window and looked a question at him.
The young Mage-Prime’s head-shake was accompanied by a wry smile. “It looks as though it’s down to pure mental athletics and alacrity from now on. And we only have a few hours to do it in before it reverts to the language in which it was originally written.” He paused and raised a finger as an unbidden thought popped into his head. “Or perhaps Keril didn’t intend for the scroll to be translated at this point. Maybe we just have to keep it safe until some other opportunity presents itself.”
Symon uttered a little snort. “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Translation spells obviously haven’t had the desired effect.” He raised an eyebrow at Karryl. “Would you consider another try, just in case, using a specific?”
Karryl’s shoulders drooped. “The amount of power that’s already gone into that very fragile artefact, one more might be enough to destroy it. Then where would we be? No, we shall have to try and make the best of what we have, which at the moment, isn’t a great deal.”
He stood and watched as Symon muttered a short but complex cantrip, opened a cupboard in another dimension, and popped the scroll into it. “Now I think a nice cup of tea and a piece of fruit cake is called for.”
The three magicians left the study, each deep in thoughts of their own.
47 - Missing Pieces
Satisfied with only a few hours sleep, Karryl was up, dressed and in his study in time to watch the changing blues and golds of an early summer dawn. Carefully accessing the dimensional cupboard which held the frustratingly mysterious scroll and Keril’s book, he lifted out the blocky volume. It seemed lighter somehow, as if the weight of its content had been transferred elsewhere. A perplexed frown creasing his broad brow, Karryl ran his fingers over the ancient grelfon skin cover. Memories stirred by this simple action, he stood for a few moments by the window, clutching the precious volume, seeming to draw strength and inspiration from the contact. The light tapping of fingers on the door brought him out of his reverie. He turned.
Grey eyes twinkling, Symon peered at him round the edge of the door. “You’re up early. Have you made
a start yet?”
Shaking his head, Karryl placed the book on his desk. “Only as far as retrieving this and mentally gathering the threads.”
His eyes fixed firmly on the book, Symon moved further into the room, as if drawn to its presence. “Is there any more to be done with the medallion?”
Karryl’s expression changed to one of mock alarm as he pulled out a chair. “Gods! I hope not! Miqhal’s got it.” Sitting down he turned a few of the yellowed pages. “As far as I can tell it won’t be needed here anymore. These last pages are different; very different.”
Settled in an armchair beside the window, Symon listened as Karryl continued. “They’re certainly written in Keril’s hand, but the language is…well; I don’t know yet what it is. It may be ancient Telorian hopefully, but that’s a very faint hope. Until I really study the language some more, I shan’t know how best to tackle it.”
The two magicians sat for a few minutes in thoughtful silence, Karryl staring at the strange script in front of him, Symon gazing out of the window, his mind obviously elsewhere. Morning sunlight began to fill the study.
As if warmed into activity, Symon pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the door. “I’ll go and make us some breakfast and a pot of tea. You’ll work better on a full stomach.”
Karryl nodded absently as he continued to gaze at the page. Symon closed the study door behind him and scuttled off to the kitchen.
At least a dozen closely written pages remained unread, each one filled with the, as yet, unidentified language. Recalling the way Master Gibb had solved the problem of reading the riddle Jack Parry had brought back, Karryl carried the book across to a small wall mirror and held the pages up in front of it. His brief surge of hope promptly died as nothing revealed itself. Lowering the book, he took it back to the desk and sat down again. Chin in hand, he picked a couple of shorter sentences and slowly mouthed the strange words. Repeating the process, he changed stresses and inflections, at the same time searching his brain for anything which might strike a familiar chord. At his fifth attempt, something did, jangling in the deep recesses of his mind like an insistent doorbell. Almost unseeing, he stared at the pages in front of him, a smile slowly transforming his face as remembered images and voices began to jostle for attention. When Symon opened the door to tell him breakfast was ready, Karryl’s smile had broadened to a grin.
