by B. J. Beach
A call echoed along the dark walls. ‘‘Hold! We are Shaqim and Asalim!’’
Spears were lowered and the tension eased. Sidling past Jaknu as if he wasn’t there, the two new arrivals dropped spears, a large canvas bag and a coil of rope at Malek’s feet.
Not even breathing hard, Asalim grinned at Buller. ‘‘Your beast will have much to answer for if this all proves to be for nothing.’’
The Jadhra’s grin was not returned. Buller was looking hard at Asalim’s slight, wiry frame. He turned to Alek. ‘‘I think he’s just the right size to slip into that crevice, don’t you?’’
Asalim’s grin quickly faded. He pushed forward to stand facing the fissure in the rock, shining his torch into the darkness beyond. His mouth now set in a grim line, he turned and raised an eyebrow at Alek in query, jerking his head in Buller’s direction. Alek shook his head.
Seeing the brief exchange, Buller moved to confront the two Jadhrahin. ‘‘What was all that about?’’
Alek turned away, answering as he bent to pick up the coil of rope. ‘‘Better you did not know. Asalim will go in.’’
Before Buller could say anything further, Alek had handed the rope to Asalim. Hoisting it crosswise over his shoulder, the wiry Jadhra turned sideways and eased his head and shoulders over the lip of the crevice. Buller couldn’t see what happened next. Seemingly to help Asalim, the other Jadhrahin crowded forward, blocking Buller’s view. He heard some scrapes and rustles, a long groan and the slither of the rope. Moments later, the group moved back. Asalim was gone. Buller elbowed through and shone his torch into the narrow confines of the crevice. It was empty. He spun round to find Alek fixing him with a defiant glare.
Buller shrugged, wandered over to Jaknu and sat down to lean against his charge’s massive rear leg. ‘‘I suppose all we do now is wait?’’
Alek crouched opposite him. His tone was flat. ‘‘Now, we wait.’’
* * *
Something cold touched Miqhal’s bare back. He breathed slowly, unflinching as smooth skin glided wetly along the length of his outstretched arm. He heard a soft squelch and a slither, the splash of water, and sucking slapping sounds. A low drawn out gurgling groan reached his ears, then all was quiet. Without moving he opened his eyes and shifted smoothly to dark-sight. Further along the ledge knelt a naked figure, shoulders hunched, dripping wet head drooped over folded arms. Hampered by the harness bound around his broken leg, Miqhal crawled forward and touched the man’s shoulder. Asalim lifted his head, his grin shining whitely among the muted shades of dark-sight.
The Jadhra warrior grasped Miqhal’s arm. ‘‘You are injured. I will return to the others, and we will find a way to rescue you.’’
Miqhal shook his head. ‘‘It may not be necessary. Go back now. Tell the elders how you have found me and that I still live.’’
Pushing his wet hair back from his face, Asalim looked out over the slowly swirling water.
Miqhal followed his gaze. ‘‘Would I be unwise in thinking I could return with you, the way you came in?’’
His discomfort evident, Asalim squirmed then stretched each of his slender limbs before replying. ‘‘It would not be possible even if you were not injured. Your Grelfon located a fault and broke it open, but the cleft is very narrow. I was the only one able to crawl through.”
The Jadhra chieftain gripped the warrior’s shoulders. ‘‘You have done well Asalim. When you are safely back, see that Jaknu is returned to his stable. If I am not with you by moonrise then you must find a way to get me out and quickly. For now, time is our worst enemy.’’
With a nod of understanding, Asalim moved to the rim of the ledge. He eased himself onto his belly, letting his head and arms dangle over the water. Miqhal looked away, not turning until a long low moan echoed softly round the cavern. Hardly disturbing the surface, a long grey-green shape slid into the dark water. The tapering snout cut an arrowhead wave as the creature swam to a point further along the dark sheer wall. There, it leapt out and clung to the wall long enough to look back at Miqhal. Forked tongue flicking, its long, fleshy crested tail giving it balance, it scampered up the wall on suckered feet and was gone into the darkness.
Putting Asalim out of his mind, Miqhal drew on the power restored to him by the forces he had detected within the rock. The task immediately ahead would require every bit of his concentration. He had to mend his broken leg. Although the pain had subsided considerably, he knew he could not afford to be hasty or complacent. If he healed the leg and the bone was badly set, he would be crippled for life. He had only one chance. Leaning back against the wall, he relinquished dark-sight, stretched out his good leg and carefully moved the broken one to lie close against it. Breathing slowly and evenly, he centred his concentration.
The process was far from easy. Shafts of searing pain ran through his body as he brought his powers of healing to bear, manipulating the broken bone. Rivulets of cold perspiration trickled down his back and chest. Long minutes seemed like longer hours, surfaces slowly moving towards each other amongst flesh and muscle until they met and married. Wiping stinging sweat from his eyes, Miqhal took a few deep breaths and relaxed. The next stage would be a true test of his skills and patience. He would have to remove the water-stiffened leather straps, get cold cramped muscles working, and discover whether the newly mended leg would ultimately bear his weight. Wary of falling asleep, he shifted to dark-sight and studied the Grelfon harness which bound his leg. Flexing his fingers he reached forward and began to pick at the first of the knots.
* * *
Ushak switched off the torch and tucked it into his belt. Keeping one hand in contact with the tunnel wall he moved quickly but cautiously down the long shallow incline towards the main cavern. He felt in his bones that he had found the hiding place of the artefacts for which Lord Ghian had been searching. Urged on by the prospect of sharing in his master’s glory, he trusted to instinct and began to move faster through the tunnel.
His hand found only empty air and he staggered to a halt. Sensing he had reached the point where the two tunnels converged, he felt around until his hand was once more in contact with solid rock. Under his fingers it felt rough hewn, full of points and protrusions, a jarring contrast to the smoothly rippled surface behind him. Carefully he groped along it, alert for the moment when his hand would once again meet empty air or detect a change of surface.
He had gone no more than a quarter mile when he realised the tunnel was heading upwards. His thin black lips formed a grimace of satisfaction; upwards meant out. His determination renewed he settled into a steady jog up the long, gradual incline. After rounding a long curve to the left he slowed to a walk and stopped. A few yards ahead the tunnel he was following split into a dog-legged triple junction. He shone his torch into each one, seeing nothing to indicate which way he should go. Trusting once more to instinct, Ushak took the one to the left and settled into his even-paced jog, relieved to find the route he had chosen ran reasonably straight and level. His mind firmly fixed on reaching the surface, it took him a few minutes to realise that the air was getting cooler. Dropping back to a walk, he played his torch beam over the riven surface of the tunnel walls. From somewhere to his left a stream of cold air buffeted his face. It took him only seconds to locate the source of the tell-tale draught.
Its rim barely an arm’s length above floor level, a narrow smooth-sided shaft led back into the depths of the tunnel wall. The cool air blew steadily into Ushak’s face, drying his sweat and fanning the flame of success burning in his mind. At the end of this shaft lay freedom. He hesitated. The shaft would accommodate his body with a little room to spare, but Ushak had a fear of confined spaces. A stronger gust riffled his hair. He slid his torch into the shaft and crawled in after it. Using elbows and toes for traction, he snake-bellied along and prayed the shaft wouldn’t get any smaller. The light of the torch revealed nothing but smooth rock and infinite blackness. Ushak’s elbows were getting sore, and despite the continual flow of fres
h air he felt trapped. There was no room to turn round and he had no way of knowing how much further he had to go.
He shone the torch beam around the shaft. About two body lengths ahead the walls abruptly ended. The Vedran blinked and stared, trying to find something on which to focus. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing, or why he could see nothing else. The narrow beam of blue light struck nothing beyond the smooth rim of the shaft, the dark void ahead extending far beyond the beam’s range. Ushak inched forward until his fingers detected what felt like an edge. Clenching his teeth, he reached out. His fingers touched nothing. He groped beside his upper body for the torch, held it out into the void and gave it a vigorous shake. As the beam strengthened he directed it downward, hoping to see the floor of a connecting tunnel. What he hadn’t expected to see was the glint of water, thirty feet below.
Intrigued and bewildered, he shone the torch into the darkness. Wide-eyed he stared around the immense cavern revealed by the intense blue light. On the far side Ushak could see a narrow ledge about three hand-spans above the water. Even in a light subdued by distance, he recognised what lay there. It was a Grelfon harness, and it was broken. Immediately fearing discovery he switched off the torch and wriggled back into the shaft, his mind whirling. Unseen, the creature clinging to the cavern wall a few feet above watched and waited. For a few more minutes it stayed there, motionless, listening. Moving lower, it hung head down and peered into the darkened shaft. Forked tongue flicking, it tasted the disturbed and tainted air. Its curiosity satisfied, the creature turned, scurried up the wall and skittered across the cavern ceiling. After one last lingering glance round, it slipped down the wall and into the dark narrow cleft, a few feet from the ledge where Miqhal had been only minutes earlier.
63 - Foolproof
Something banged hard against the outside of the door. Karryl leapt to his feet, silently cursing himself for falling asleep. He thought he heard a scream as a resounding thud shook the heavy timber on its hinges. Another long gurgling scream mingled with deep ferocious growls was followed by a thump and a clatter. Something slid heavily down the door. Then all went quiet. Tense, Karryl waited, trying to make sense of the noise and commotion. With a tortured rasping sound the long bolts were slammed back and the heavy door thrown open as if it were no more than a garden gate. Poised to blast who or whatever into oblivion, Karryl squinted as moonlight flooded into the cell. Silhouetted against its cold light, a tall figure stood framed by the doorway.
The figure beckoned. “Shall we get going?”
The Mage-Prime’s tension released itself in a loud explosive breath. He lurched forward. “Magnor! Thank D’ta! There’s no time to lose. Ghian has Symon somewhere and Miqhal has pieces missing!”
Two seconds of stunned silence followed, before Karryl’s relief manifested itself in a fit of the giggles as he realised what he had said. Recovering quickly, he barely had time to notice the mutilated bodies of the Vedran guards and the pack of prowling blood-smeared wolves before Magnor grabbed his arm.
Up to their knees in sand near the crest of a massive dune, they looked out over the darkening city. Grimacing with the effort, Karryl hauled one foot and then the other out of the unstable mass and quickly sat down.
He grinned as Magnor settled himself beside him. “That could have been worse I suppose.”
Magnor looked disgusted. ‘‘Could have been better too. Still, there’s no harm done.’’ He gestured down towards the city. ‘‘What was that you were babbling about Miqhal? And where’s Symon?’’
Hands clasped round his knees, Karryl told the Grrybhñnös elder the whole story.
When he had finished, Magnor held out his hand. ‘‘May I see these Mirikani ‘boxes’?”
Karryl gave him a long flat look. ‘‘Don’t you think we ought to be down there trying to find Symon? And where did those wolves come from?”
Magnor gazed into the middle distance for a few seconds. ‘‘Symon is in no immediate danger, but I sense that his prison is more secure than yours and more heavily guarded. We can deal with that shortly. Then you will find out about the wolves.’’
Opening his mouth to protest, Karryl decided against it. After giving Magnor a dubious look he pulled out the soft leather pouch on its thong. Carefully he tipped the contents into the palm of Magnor’s outstretched hand.
Easing the half dozen gold-mounted Geffendrogger tusks to one side, Magnor picked up the silver ball pendant and held it out to Karryl. ‘‘I think you’d better put this back around your neck.’’
Karryl just sat and stared, then leaned forward and looked closely at the pendant. ‘‘It’s never done that before.’’
Holding the unusual piece of jewellery higher, Magnor also took a closer look. ‘‘Done what?’’
Karryl pointed. ‘‘The inside is spinning, and quite fast. I can see something in there, like a red jewel.’’
Before Karryl could study it further, Magnor had reached over and slipped the pendant’s silver chain over Karryl’s head. The ball’s inner latticework began to spin faster, the stone inside now clearly visible. Perfectly round and un-faceted, the colour of new blood, it bore within it tiny spots and streaks of a deep purplish grey. Karryl slipped the pendant down inside his robe, not seeing the marks swirl and shift before coalescing into a dark iris at the centre of the stone. Now in contact with the Mage-Prime’s skin, the inner lattice continued to spin, smoothly and silently.
Karryl shivered briefly as a chill breeze explored his face and neck. ‘‘Gets dark early here doesn’t it?”
His companion looked at him askance. ‘‘You have to remember you’re on the other side of the world now. It’s winter here.’’
Realisation briefly transformed the young magician’s face. After giving Magnor a sheepish grin, he turned his mind to the problem that was literally at hand.
He jabbed a finger at the tiny, silver-inlaid Mirikani boxes. ‘‘Somehow we have to get those to Miqhal. I don’t think he knows we’ve got them or that he needs them. Worse still, we don’t know where he is.”
The silver inlay glinted as Magnor turned one of the boxes over on his palm, his face unreadable planes of light and shadow. ‘‘How did you find out about these?’’
Karryl looked anxiously towards the darkened city. ‘‘Kimi put me on to it. He told me some of his people’s history involving the Mirikani. It was only when I was about to leave his hut that he presented me with the second box. That’s when I put two and two together. I don’t think they’re boxes. They’re part of the artefact that Keril’s body was guarding under Bardeen’s house.’’
Magnor finished the train of thought. ‘‘And they all have to be together in a few more hours.’’
Slipping the tiny objects back into the pouch, Magnor pulled the drawstring tight, hung the pouch round his own neck, and handed the gold-mounted tusks to Karryl. ‘‘Let’s hope we won’t need those.’’ He pushed himself to his feet, shaking sand off his robe as he looked down at Karryl. ‘‘Now I think it’s time we tried to rescue Symon.’’ He held out a restraining hand as Karryl made to stand up. ‘‘You wait here for a while. I’ll be back shortly. There’s something I have to do.’’
Nodding his understanding, Karryl briefly turned his attention to the tusks before slipping them deep into the pocket of his robe. From somewhere nearby a wolf’s long howl rode the night breeze. Karryl rose quickly to his feet and looked about him. He could see nothing but the city, a black venomous spider lying sprawled across the desert below. The wolf howled again, closer this time. An answering howl drifted faintly up from the direction of the city and Karryl’s skin crawled. Rivulets of sand slithered past his feet. He spun round to find himself staring into the yellow eyes of a large desert wolf. A small leather pouch hung round its neck.
Karryl’s only comment was ‘‘I thought you were going for a pee.’’
Stumbling and slithering, he followed the wolf down the steep slope of the dune, back towards Vedra.
* * *
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With Karryl floundering awkwardly behind him through the sliding sand, Magnor-wolf located the pack gathered at the bottom of a dry wadi on the outskirts of the city. The noise of growls, yips and chittering squeals rose into the air as some of the younger pack members bickered over what remained of a couple of small furry animals. One looked suspiciously like a cat, and for a brief moment Karryl felt a twinge of nostalgia as a picture of Moonstone and a kitchen full of cats and kittens drifted into his mind. The bickering ceased as they approached.
A small female with neat black-tipped ears selected a chunk of something blood-stained and furry, stepped forward and coyly dropped the offering at Magnor’s feet. A low warning growl came from the throat of a large silver-maned wolf. Turning her head just long enough to give him an impudent stare, the she-wolf lolled her tongue and ambled back to sit down again with the pack. Fascinated, Karryl could only watch as the silver-maned wolf moved forward to touch noses with Magnor. Side by side, the two wolves dropped to their haunches, and Karryl could only guess that they were engaged in some kind of silent communion. After a few tense moments during which Karryl and the wolves warily eyed each other, Magnor stood and trotted over to where he waited. He looked up at the Mage-Prime. Karryl’s eyes slowly widened and his mouth began to drop open.
Brow furrowed in consternation he agitatedly raised both hands. ‘‘Magnor! You’re thinking in Wolf! I don’t speak Wolf! ‘‘
It was then Magnor realised at least one major limitation of the form he had taken. When he was a wolf, he could only converse in wolf. He turned away and seemed to have a brief consultation with the big silver-maned wolf before slipping off into the darkness. With some trepidation Karryl watched as the pack pressed in around him. A short while later he felt the familiar prickling of his skin, then let out a long sigh of relief as the tall figure of Magnor, barely visible in the brown-hued hunting clothes he now wore, emerged from the deep shadows.
