by B. J. Beach
The Grrybhñnös elder dropped to a crouch in front of Karryl. ‘‘I hadn’t thought of that.’’ He gestured towards the big silver-maned wolf. ‘‘This is Ash. We have worked out a plan of action to locate and hopefully rescue Symon, but Ash will not be involved. He’s fairly certain he can discover where Miqhal is.’’
He removed the leather pouch from round his neck and was about to slip its thong over Ash’s head when Karryl held out a restraining hand. “I almost forgot! The scroll has to go with those.”
Standing up, he fumbled inside his robe until the deep pocket was turned inside out. Slowly the glamour of matching fabric shimmered away, revealing a sheet of creased and ancient parchment. He looked at the small leather pouch and the parchment in turn, then shook his head. He was about to say something when Magnor took the parchment from his hand, folded it neatly into a little wad, slipped it into the pouch and placed it round Ash’s neck.
There was a hint of indignance in Karryl’s tone. “I thought it might crack or crumble if I folded it.”
Magnor smiled and shrugged but said nothing. The big wolf shook himself to settle the unaccustomed neckwear in place then turned to look at each member of his pack in turn.
Karryl nodded towards them. ‘‘Are they going with him?’’
Magnor shook his head as he rose to his feet. ‘‘No. If all goes according to plan they will be instrumental in Symon’s rescue. I had to make some last minute changes, but they all know what they’re expected to do.’’
‘‘What if Ash can’t find Miqhal?’’
Magnor gave him a tight smile. ‘‘Don’t worry, he will. The plan is pretty well fool-proof.’’
Not entirely convinced, Karryl watched with some misgivings as Ash, with one final glance at Magnor, loped away along the bed of the wadi. Magnor also watched until Ash was out of sight. He wondered who the big silver-maned wolf really was.
Returning his gaze to the black bulk of the city, Karryl voiced the question which had troubled him long enough. ‘‘So, how are we going to find Symon?’’
Magnor chuckled. ‘‘Easy. We do a joint spell of locating. But let’s get onto higher ground first.’’
The wolf pack following close behind, the two magicians scrambled up the side of the wadi, trudging their way through the sand until they stood near the ridge of a broad high dune overlooking the city.
Magnor looked around. ‘‘We should be far enough away from Ghian’s shielding for our magic to work. In theory, when the spell hits a barrier it will probably be a shielded area, and that’s where we’ll look.’’
Before Karryl could respond, lights began to flare in the centre of the city. Bobbing and flickering they sped through the dark streets, a whirl of yellow spattering across a black canvas. Steadily they began to converge on the east quarter, shouts of alarm drifting up on the breeze to where Karryl and Magnor watched.
Tugging Karryl’s sleeve Magnor pulled him down into a crouch beside him. ‘‘Seems they’ve discovered you got tired of their hospitality.’’
Karryl kept his voice low. ‘‘I don’t think they like what was left behind either.’’
Suddenly, as one the wolf-pack rose to their feet, fur bristling, lips drawn back over teeth in a dozen silent snarls. Gesturing towards them, Magnor whispered a few words. Karryl’s skin prickled as one by one the wolves vanished from sight. All he could see was moonlit sand.
He turned his attention back to the activity below. ‘‘What have you done with them?’’
Magnor grunted. ‘‘Nothing. It’s only a glamour. They’re still here. They won’t move until I dispel it. Now, are you in dark-sight? If not, do it now. I think we’re going to...’’
A high-pitched ululating scream of pure malice splintered the Vedran air. Magnor dropped flat. A split second later Karryl did the same. Magnor murmured; Karryl’s skin prickled. They lay still. More voices joined until the air trembled with their blood-chilling clarion. Heavy wing-beats thumped low overhead, sand spiralling in the downdraught as a murder of grelfons searched the cold dunes and dark shadowed hollows. The ground beneath the two magicians shuddered and shook. Sand slid past their faces, heavy footfalls pounded to a halt behind them. Karryl tried not to be sick. The grelfon’s scream assaulted their eardrums, its nauseating stench violating their nostrils and lungs. Moments later it launched itself into the air, its huge wings pounding a reverberating bass drumbeat. Safe beneath Magnor’s swiftly laid glamour the two magicians lay hardly daring to breathe as they listened to the gradually fading sound of the grelfon’s wings.
Its integrity weakened by the sudden and unaccustomed weight, without any warning the side of the dune collapsed. With the hiss of a hundred snakes the sand-slide dumped Karryl and Magnor in the hollow at the base of an adjoining dune. For a few moments Karryl lay still, every nerve jangling in expectation of the grelfons’ return. Hearing nothing, he cautiously lifted his head and opened his eyes. There were no dark shapes soaring overhead, and no sign of Magnor or the wolf pack. Karryl shifted into dark-sight, barely managing to stifle a cry of surprise at what it revealed. About thirty feet away a dozen pale lilac-hued shapes lay clustered together on the sand. He belly crawled until he was almost on top of them, then shifted back to normal sight. He could no longer see them. The glamour over the pack was holding. With a sigh of relief he pushed himself upright, wrapped his arms round his knees and settled to watch the frantic activity going on below.
The Grrybhñnös reappeared shortly afterwards, but not in quite the way Karryl was expecting. Handfuls of sand erupted from the side of a small dune to Karryl’s left, closely followed by the emergence of Dhoum’s russet-haired face. All six limbs working furiously he quickly extricated himself, blew sand out of his nostrils and blinked once at his fellow magician. Knowing what was coming next, Karryl ducked, but not fast enough to avoid being showered as Dhoum vigorously shook pounds of sand from his long fur. Four legs tucked underneath him, the Grrybhñnös crouched beside Karryl and quietly murmured a few words. Karryl turned in time to see the wolf pack stand up, stretch and move slowly towards them.
Without looking at Dhoum, Karryl whispered ‘‘Are they going to recognise you in that form?’’
Before Dhoum could answer, a dark grey wolf with a piece missing from his ear and only half a tail, stepped forward and delicately sniffed at Dhoum’s face. Seemingly satisfied, he returned to the pack. As one, they all looked expectantly at Karryl and Dhoum.
His fur rippling, Dhoum rose to his feet. ‘‘I think it’s about time we went down and rescued Symon, don’t you?’’
* * *
Sharp ears pricked, Ash bounded up a long low dune and paused to listen. Already the city was far behind, the noise of the murderous screams faint and distorted as it drifted in the night air. Unable to identify the sounds, the silver-maned wolf swung away and headed for the mountains. The moon was now riding higher in the sky, its cold light turning sand to silver and burnishing the peaks just visible above the distant horizon. His fast lope extended to a near flat out run, Ash’s lean body seemed to fly along the ground. Constantly alert, his ears caught the slightest sound, his keen nose drawing in each drifting aroma and wafting scent of every swiftly covered mile.
With the mountains at last large in his vision, the merest vestige of a complex odour floated across his path. Nose low to the ground and his pace slowed to a steady trot, he veered slightly to the left. Capturing the odour again, he tasted and assessed it. Satisfied, he settled once more into a fast lope and headed for a tall peak near the seaward end of the mountain chain. Born of the cooling desert, a rising breeze swirled and drifted, pausing briefly to tug at the clothing of the man standing alone on the sand. His scent gathered, the breeze carried its distinctive molecules two miles across the dunes to the questing nostrils of the silver-maned wolf.
Taking most of his weight on the undamaged leg, Miqhal looked around. The power he had drawn from the cavern’s rock had not been enough. Relieved to find he had not translocated
to the suffocating depths of a massive dune, his despair at finding himself so far from where he wanted and needed to be, threatened equally to engulf him. The positions of the emerging stars told him that time was not being any kinder. The mountain stronghold of the Jadhrahin filled his view, but its apparent closeness was little comfort. He knew he would be hard pressed to reach even the nearest hidden entrance before the time of the conjunction. To attempt another translocation to the safety of the interior would be a pointless exercise and leave him exhausted beyond recovery. Miqhal had one last hope. If Asalim had followed his orders, rescuers would have already discovered he was no longer in the cavern, a search party would be preparing to set out, and Jaknu would be with them. Not willing to take that chance, the Jadhra chieftain began the long trek towards the mountain. With no staff to lean on for support, it would not be long until his healed but weakened leg would start feeling the strain. Beset by doubts and conflicting emotions, the Jadhra trudged on.
Now barely half a mile away, Ash loped over the top of a long rolling dune. Below him, a wind-levelled sand-flat merged with a wide belt of rocks and shale to wrap itself round the foot of the looming mountain. With the scent of human strong in his nostrils the wolf slowed to a trot. Travelling up-wind, his paws making no noise in the sand, Ash headed in an undeviating line for his quarry. A few more minutes of steady trotting brought him within a few yards, and he slowed to stalking pace. The human smelled hot and troubled, his gait fast but unsteady.
An odd, light whisper brushed feather-like against the wolf’s brain. Before he could catch it, it was gone. Ash moved a pace closer to the human. The whisper touched his mind again, stronger this time. It seemed like a voice. The wolf watched the human and listened.
Miqhal stopped, turned and looked straight at the wolf. Ash dropped to his belly, tongue lolling. His thick tail thumped once on the hard-packed sand. He knew now, the sound in his head was a voice. He also knew it was not human, nor was it wolf. Miqhal walked slowly towards him. Ash stood.
The Jadhra chieftain hadn’t known the wolf was coming up behind him. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had. He couldn’t run, not yet. He had no useful reserve of power to make any kind of escape. The wolf could have easily run him down and killed him.
The calm clear tones of Jaknu’s mind-call had alerted him. “Do not kill the wolf.”
Relieved and pleased to hear Jaknu, Miqhal had still been puzzled. “What wolf?”
The Grelfon’s reply was short. “Behind you.” He had said nothing more.
Taking care not to make further eye contact, Miqhal continued to approach the wolf, one slow step at a time. He knew this had to be some unique kind of animal. Wolves had not roamed this region of desert for generations. He was also alone. Two paces from the wolf, Miqhal stopped. The animal’s eyes and silver mane glinted in the moonlight.
Miqhal’s newly mended leg protested as he crouched and held out his hand, palm open. “Is it me you seek, wise one?”
Ash edged forward, closing the gap to rest his muzzle on Miqhal’s outstretched hand. Again he felt the touch against his mind, a voice certainly, but no words he could understand. Only when Miqhal reached for the pouch hanging round the wolf’s neck did Ash realise the Jadhra was in contact with something or someone out of sight. Making no sudden movements, Miqhal slipped the pouch on its thong over the wolf’s ears. Ash rested his head on outstretched paws and watched as Miqhal opened the pouch and tipped the Mirikani artefacts and the folded parchment into the palm of his hand. Puzzled, he peered at the shining silver markings. Uncertain what to make of them, he dropped the pieces back into the pouch, drew it closed, and slipped the thong over his own head.
As the wolf stood, Miqhal reached out and fondled the black-tipped ears. “Did Karryl send you to me, my friend?”
The big wolf lolled his tongue, his tail waving slowly from side to side.
Miqhal nodded. “Will you return now?”
As if bidding the Jadhra farewell, Ash raised a front paw, holding it high for a few seconds.
The Jadhra chieftain smiled and raised his own hand. “Run swift and sure, my friend.”
Turning away, he headed once more for the mountain, knowing Jaknu would soon be flying down to carry him the rest of the way. Once in the safety of the stronghold he could prepare his tribe for the conjunction. When he looked back, the wolf was gone.
64 - A Short Fuse
Ghian, Grelfine Lord and Master of Vedra, was angry. Sensing her master’s fury, his queen grelfon screamed her agitation into the shadowed heights of the temple’s massive sacrificial chamber. Black walls gleamed in the light of a hundred ensconced torches. A dozen thick red votive candles burned on the foetid, blood-encrusted altar, the smoke of their quivering flames forming black writhing serpents in the dense, over-heated miasma. The grelfon keened for blood. Unmoved by her protests, Ghian watched an ageing black-robed priest drag the headless and disembowelled corpse of the latest sacrifice across the temple floor to a deeply shadowed alcove. As with all offerings to his god, Ghian felt no remorse or concern for the victim or for the rapidly dwindling few left behind. He would personally sacrifice them all, down to his last Grelfi, priest and temple guard if the god to whom he believed he owed his power would answer. Even now, after all his dedicated efforts, the unseen and unheard deity had mocked him by allowing one of his valuable captives to escape. He took little comfort from knowing he still had the Mage-Prime inescapably confined. He and his apprentice worked together, of that he had no doubt, and he needed them both. They were his bargaining currency. Their lives would pay for the location of the artefacts, and the life of the Jadhrahin traitor Miqhal.
The ceremony of sacrifice complete, Ghian removed himself from the thick cloying atmosphere of the temple. Concealed in the darkly shadowed angle of two adjoining walls, he drew in deep breaths of cool night air and surveyed the carnage. A spell of calming brought his anger and frustration down to a manageable level, and he stepped out into the torch-lit street. Two guards slouching by the open cell door shuffled grudgingly to attention as Ghian approached. Sensing the residues of both Rhamnic and Vedric magic hanging in the air, he crouched down and studied the mutilated bodies lying on the ground. Once again his nostrils were invaded by the sharp metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. He peered in morbid fascination at the un-natural angles formed by broken necks and limbs, and wondered at the ragged gaping holes in torn-out throats. Despite his ability to turn human to wolf, he was not familiar with the damage which could be done by the animal’s strong jaws and knifelike incisors.
Rising to his feet, Ghian turned and glared at the two living guards. “Where is your commander?”
One of them gestured vaguely towards the city outskirts. “Captain Graak, Lord. He roused the Grelfi and their beasts, and sent search squads out to the desert edge.”
The second guard relaxed his stance and spoke to no-one in particular. “If we ‘ad more men we’d a prob’ly caught ‘em by now.”
His insubordination earned him a full force slap across the cheek. Ghian’s anger was rising again. Pushing the guard against the wall, the Grelfine Lord snarled into the man’s face. ‘Take care. In no time, I can have you wandering the Jadhrahin tunnels. Perhaps, if you were fortunate, you might even be the first to find his way out.’
Secure in the knowledge that guard and Grelfi numbers were now too depleted to afford the loss of even one more, the Vedran’s slanted yellow eyes glared unflinchingly back at Ghian. The sound of running feet broke the stalemate. Ghian backed away and turned aside as a small squad of heavily armed Vedran guards jogged towards him.
His raised hand brought them to a clattering, un-co-ordinated halt. “Is there any sign of them...of anything...anyone?”
A tall heavily built Vedran, short yellowing tusks overhanging his black lower lip, trotted briskly forward from the rear of the squad. He saluted Ghian. “Captain Graak, guard Commander, my Lord. We’ve made a thorough search, us and the Grelfi, and found
no trace. They must’ve used a portal. They could be anywhere.”
Ghian stabbed a finger towards Graak’s face. “When I want your opinion Graak, I’ll ask for it. They will not have gone far. Their intention is to free the other magician. No doubt that Jadhra dog Miqhal has something to do with this, but I swear he will not best me this time. Keep searching. Kill anything that moves. Do you understand?”
Graak flipped a barely acceptable salute, his coarse black fur not even rippling with concern as Ghian vanished.
65 - A Dead End
Dhoum seemed to have no difficulty communicating with the wolves. Karryl watched the pack pair off and slip away through the shadows of the dunes, down into the city.
When they were gone Dhoum explained his plan. “It’s simple. We rescue Symon the same way we rescued you. The wolves will scent out where he’s being held. That way we won’t need a locating spell. With that blanket barrier of Vedric magic over the city, it could get distorted and lead us into all kinds of trouble. With the wolves’ help we’ll be out and away with Symon, and Ghian will be short a few more troops.”
While appreciating Dhoum’s optimism, Karryl had his doubts. He thought it extremely unlikely Ghian would allow the same thing to happen again. One thing he was certain of. If it was going to be anywhere near approaching easy, Symon would have escaped by now.
Dhoum rose up onto his rear legs and looked into Karryl’s pensive face. “Can you transform?”
Karryl shook his head. The fur rippled on his companion’s muzzle. “Have you tried?”
The Mage-Prime’s mouth fell open but no words came out. He sat down with a thud on the side of the dune. The last thing he wanted to do right now was entertain the idea of trying something new. The thought of becoming something or someone else filled him with no small amount of trepidation.
