by B. J. Beach
His two companions exchanged a glance. It was Areel who answered. “For himself. In the dread temple of Zo’ad, here in Vedra, he is addressed as ‘Lord Ghian’. Of all those who have been marked and tested over the years, he is the one finally chosen. This very day he has returned to the city to ascend his throne as Grelfine Lord. It is he that you must defeat before the astral conjunction. If he defeats you, there will be no second chance.”
His expression a volatile mix of disbelief, fury and disgust, Karryl stretched out a hand towards Areel. “Excuse me, but how in the name of the gods did the elder brother of my best friend, who teased me unmercifully when I was at school, suddenly acquire the title of ‘Lord Ghian’? He’s no more a blasted Lord than I am!”
Areel smiled inwardly at this sudden outburst. Combined with the loud snort and rumble of agreement from Magnor, it was the reaction he had been hoping for.
Palms placed together in front of his chest, he allowed the smile briefly to reach his mouth. “There is not much time, but I will explain as much as I am able. The history is unclear. It would seem that, due to an illicit union in the distant past between a Jadhra and an Altarian, the blood of the Jadhrahin flows in Ghian’s veins.
“Not warrior blood, but that of a select priesthood who maintain the Temple of Zo’ad. They practice a perverted religion worshipping not only Zo’ad, but also the so-called ‘gods’ who brought them to this world and originally created the evil grelfons. Also, he has inherited some innate ability to at least read, if not fully understand our ancient script. As the Vedran religion teaches that one will come who would lead them back to their own world, the arrival of Ghian so close to the astral conjunction has elevated him to near god-like status.”
Karryl leaned forward to look intently into Areel’s dark face, now a deep ashen grey in the blue light of the torch. “From what I know of Ghian he’s nothing but a bully. I could probably take him single-handed.”
Magnor leaned across and dropped his large hand onto Karryl’s shoulder. “I know exactly how you feel, but I think Areel will tell you that’s not a good idea.” He looked across at their dark-clad companion for confirmation.
Areel gave a slow nod. “Ghian is already far more dangerous than you can possibly realise. In recent years the high priests of the Temple have given him intensive training in the dark arts of the Vedric. He is also an accomplished grelfon handler. But he will no doubt have his weaknesses, which you may be able to discover and exploit. However, there is much for you to learn before your pre-destined meeting takes place. That is why I have brought you here, to learn the layout of the city, and to get a taste of its atmosphere. Such knowledge may well prove vital.”
Barely impressed by the facts about Ghian, Karryl stared in disbelief at Areel. “Couldn’t you have just given me a map? I could have memorised that without all this... this... inconvenience.”
Areel regarded him for a long moment as if tolerating an impatient child. “No maps exist. If there were any, they would not show the places we will go to, nor the route we will take. You must commit all to memory. There is no doubt that more lives than your own will come to depend on it. Now, if you are rested we will continue.”
Karryl opened his mouth to speak, but Areel raised a silencing hand before rising to his feet in one seemingly effortless movement. He led them to a simple wooden door which he opened and walked through, beckoning them to follow. They found themselves in a much smaller room. The wall to their left held a short row of hooks from which hung a number of dark, hooded robes.
Selecting one for himself, Areel then picked out two others, handing them to Karryl and Magnor. “There is one for each of us. While we wear these, little attention will be paid to us. If we are approached, say nothing. Stop, and keep your eyes fixed on the ground. Your height and colouring will avert suspicion Master Karryl. Friend Magnor will need to keep his hood forward and wear one of these.”
He handed Magnor a simple black head-dress trailing a long wide length of soft black fabric. “There is no facial hair worn in Vedra. Lord Ghian is so adorned, therefore he forbids it to others.”
Frowning, Karryl reached out and fingered the soft fabric in Magnor’s hand. “Couldn’t you make yourself, you know, sort of less conspicuous?”
Magnor’s deep chuckle seemed out of place in their sombre surroundings. “Now, why didn’t I think of that? If you’ll both… er… excuse me for a moment?”
Taking the robe and the head-dress, he ambled over to a shadowy corner of the room. With his back towards them, he stood perfectly still. Karryl squinted into the gloom, straining his ears in an effort to detect some part of the process taking place, but to no avail. In no more than a couple of dozen heartbeats, the character who was Magnor had robed himself. He strode out of the corner to stand before them.
Impressed and surprised, Karryl grinned widely. Areel’s response was a slight nod and a wry smile. The person who now stood before them was dark-eyed, with nut-brown skin and a hairless face. His features bore some resemblance to those of Areel, and he could have easily passed as a clan member.
Lifting the long length of black fabric he wound it skilfully and neatly round his head and neck, before pulling up the front. Only his eyes remained exposed. “How will that do?”
Impressed, Karryl punched him lightly on the upper arm. “I think you’ll pass muster at that, my friend.”
Magnor gave another of his rumbling chuckles, before Areel showed them the proper way to tie the length of coarse black rope loosely around the waist of their robes. After one last check of their appearance, he led them to a heavy wooden door furnished with a massive lock. From under his robe he removed a large ornately wrought key before switching off the torch and unlocking the door. Pulling it halfway open he stepped without hesitation into the moonlit street. Karryl quickly followed, leaving Magnor to pull the door to behind them.
Areel turned to them and held up a cautionary hand. “I will talk to you as we walk. Do not reply for any reason, on the chance we may be observed. Remember everything I tell and show you, but remain close behind me.”
The street they were on was wide, sand-strewn and deserted. In places, paving stones had lifted and lay at odd angles, drifts of windblown sand gathered in their tilted corners. Heavily ornamented with repulsively fascinating bas-relief panels, tall buildings of dark stone loomed on either side, compounding the eerie silence with their deep impenetrable shadows. The moon was now high in the sky, but little of its cold light reached the floor of this artificial canyon in which they stood. After one quick glance behind, Areel began to walk at a steady, almost respectful pace, his hands clasped on his forearms inside the sleeves of his robe.
Matching his pace and attitude, Karryl and Magnor stayed close enough to hear what he was saying. “The city was rebuilt on the remains of a far older city many generations ago by the forebears of the small number who now dwell here. We are a dying race, yet once we thrived. No children have been born to us for many years. The best of our tribe have all offered themselves to the service of Zo’ad, in the fervent hope that some good may come of it, but to no avail. That is why the Grelfi and Zo’ad’s minions must be defeated. If they prevail, your men will be enslaved, your women raped and any off-spring forced into temple service. They may even find themselves on a completely different world, if the priests are to be believed.”
At the thought of such horrors and depravity befalling the simple people of Vellethen and even possibly of the whole of Teloria, Karryl clamped his teeth together and dug his nails into his arms. He desperately wanted to look at Magnor, but the possibility that they were being watched was incentive enough to keep his head bowed.
Without any warning Areel began to speak more loudly and quickly. To Karryl’s ears the language sounded repulsively alien, yet somehow familiar. Areel stopped suddenly in front of them. It was only the most supreme effort which prevented Karryl from crashing into the back of him. Daring to lift his eyes, Karryl looked out from under his eye
brows. A strong frisson of fear ran down his spine.
In the middle of the road, not more than three paces in front, two figures stood facing them. Almost certainly temple guards, each was well over six feet tall, their heavily muscled bodies clad in a most bizarre and alien type of dark leather armour. Obviously intended to instil dread in those who dared to confront them, heavily studded shining black metal plates were riveted to the leather on chest, shoulders, forearms and thighs. Wickedly spiked, articulated gauntlets covered their hands and wrists. Tilted yellow eyes glinted cruelly from beneath the brow-plates of high, black polished helms. Curving cheek pieces and long narrow nose-guards served to heighten their apparent invincibility. Their only visible weapons were tall, viciously barbed and pointed long-headed spears, but from each wide studded belt hung a heavy coiled and braided leather whip.
One of the guards stepped forward. In a low voice he spoke to Areel, his tilted eyes darting first to Karryl then to Magnor and back to Karryl. Areel replied in the same harsh-sounding language. Seemingly unsatisfied, the guard stepped round him to stand in front of Magnor. Thrusting out his gauntleted hand, he hooked a finger over the edge of the cloth which concealed Magnor’s lower face, and pulled it downwards. Magnor remained motionless, not even moving his eyes. A hand under Magnor’s chin, the guard roughly jerked his head upwards. Glowering into his face, he barked at him what sounded like a question. Magnor remained silent. The second guard strode forward to stand beside him. The question was repeated, a gauntleted fist thrust hard against Magnor’s throat. It was only fear of detection, thus placing his companions in further danger, which prevented Karryl from drawing in power.
Areel straightened his shoulders and held his head high. Abruptly he turned on his heel and stepped up to the guard. In a tone vibrant with authority, he spoke a couple of short, sharp phrases. Their mouths twisting with disdain the two guards looked hard at Areel before turning aside with some obvious reluctance. Moving slowly to the far side of the street, they muttered to each other while gracing Karryl with the most malicious stares they could muster. Areel took his place once more in front of Karryl and Magnor and resumed his steady pace. Silently they passed by the Vedran guards and Karryl’s blood ran cold as he felt the baleful stares of two pairs of eyes marking their progress.
CHAPTER TWENTYEIGHT
A hundred yards further on, Areel turned to the right. Much to the relief of Magnor and Karryl he led them into a narrow side street heavy with shadows. Unrelieved by any door or window, the high walls of looming buildings stood in an endless monotony of dark grey stone. Karryl was expecting Areel to tell them something about the guards and what was said, but the desert warrior kept his silence as they maintained their pace along the cold and cheerless street. Once again without warning, Areel stopped, turning to face the sheer blank wall to their left. He raised a hand in a signal for them to stay put, then quickly approached the wall and placed both hands flat against its smooth surface. For a long moment he stood as if listening for something, before moving half a pace to his right and pushing hard against the naked surface. With a soft, grating sound, a narrow rectangle of wall swung ponderously inwards. Even before the concealed doorway was half-way open, Areel had slipped through, disappearing briefly before returning to beckon Karryl and Magnor to follow. No sooner were they inside than the heavy stone door whispered shut, as if pushed by some unseen hand.
From a deep pocket in his robe Areel produced the torch and switched it on, its blue light revealing a flight of steep and narrow stone stairs plunging downwards from the small landing on which they stood. Karryl groaned inwardly as he recalled the horrors which had awaited him at the bottom of the staircase in the palace. He found himself wondering whether they were being led into a trap. As they started down, with Magnor bringing up the rear, Karryl managed to push the thought into the back of his mind. He had other things to concentrate on. There was no hand-rail on the stairs, yet Areel seemed to have no qualms. Making almost indecent haste downwards, his torch cast back barely enough light for Karryl and Magnor to see where they were putting their feet. When they eventually arrived at the bottom, Areel crouched down and shone the light into the entrance of another tunnel. Karryl was beginning to think he was trapped in a bad dream and the only way out was through tunnels.
Although barely above a whisper, Areel’s voice broke into his thoughts. “This is only a short tunnel. When we connect with the one which crosses it, we must rely on dark-sight.”
He looked a question at Karryl who nodded. Closing his eyes, he wove the spell which would plunge him into an improbable world of violet-hued shapes and deep purple shadows.
Before Areel started off again, Karryl placed a hand on his shoulder. “Where are we going and why all this secrecy?”
Areel favoured him with a humourless grin. “Perhaps it would be best if I told you. Anticipation can put a certain fire in the belly. Our present destination is the Temple of Zo’ad. I shall take us in, to a place where you will be able to watch unobserved. From there you will see what your old acquaintance Ghian has become. He is not the man you once knew. After that, I think it best if you did not know until the time comes. Now, we must go.”
His soft-booted feet making no noise on the smooth rock floor, he moved swiftly ahead, Karryl and Magnor only one step behind him. The already narrow tunnel had begun to narrow even further as Areel turned off the torch. His upraised hand appeared as a white bloom amidst the violet hues of Karryl’s dark-sight. They had arrived at the intersection. After a quick glance left and right, and with no suggestion of stealth Areel began to lead them quickly along the narrow passage which curved gently round to the left. Before too long he raised his hand once again, bringing them to a halt in front of a blank wall of rock.
His dark eyes glinting in the eerie purplish white of his face, Areel turned to face them. “Be assured that from our vantage point we will not be seen, even if those who congregate below seem to be looking directly at us. Only a directed thought or an attempt by you to use magic will prove our undoing.”
Magnor nodded his understanding, but Karryl stepped forward and thrust his face close to Areel’s. “I gather you’re going to use magic to get us through this wall. Won’t that be detected?”
Areel’s low murmur matched Karryl’s. “I will use the Vedric magic. It is continuously in use in the temple and will be paid no heed.”
Once again facing the wall, Areel raised his arms. Running his long hands quickly over its surface, he described a wide archway on the rock. It shimmered briefly and vanished without a sound. Areel made no attempt to move forward, merely beckoned Karryl and Magnor to stand beside him. From a narrow ledge, they now overlooked the floor of the vast temple chamber many feet below. The sight which greeted Karryl’s eyes, and the familiar stench drifting up through the smoky air, filled him with a gut-churning mixture of anger and repugnance. Feeling cool fingertips brush against his forehead, he instantly regretted his temporary weakness as the almost overwhelming sensation rapidly faded. Flashing a quick smile of gratitude at Areel, he looked down, able to view the scene below him calmly and objectively.
On a massive, grotesquely carved black pedestal set slightly off centre of the floor squatted a huge grelfon, easily half as big again as the one which Karryl had killed in the palace grounds. Blue-black feathered shoulders hunched, reptilian head thrust forward, it slowly moved its yellow-eyed gaze from side to side. Saurian mouth slightly open, it glared down as if in arrogant acceptance of the homage rendered by the mass of robed and hooded figures who stood, heads bowed, before it. Yet the homage was for another, not grelfon, but human.
Karryl recognised Ghian immediately. Standing proudly in front of his beast, he held his arms outstretched to his sides in approbation. The thick, black, neatly dressed beard which he now wore, failed to disguise the cruel smile playing across his lips, or the cold gleam in his dark eyes. The grelfon reached down to rest scale-sheathed talons on Ghian’s broad shoulder. As if this was some kind
of signal, Ghian began to speak, using the same harsh language that Areel had spoken to the guards. At first he spoke in an almost conversational tone, but gradually the timbre of his voice rose, becoming progressively more agitated. Head thrust forward, he frequently made wild gestures towards various areas of the temple. At intervals during his diatribe, some of those assembled would make their way forward. Heads bowed, they dropped to their knees in front of him, hands pressed flat against the smooth black floor. There they remained unmoving until Ghian had finished, his final words being flung directly at them in a hoarse-sounding high pitched scream. In response, each one reached up and pulled back their deep face-concealing hood.
Raising dark bat-like wings to maintain its balance, the grelfon stretched its long neck downwards, swinging its malevolent gaze almost eagerly along the row of bowed heads as if searching. Finally its gaze settled. Near the end of the row nearest the high ledge where Karryl and his companions stood, a young man of about twenty knelt, his dark hair flowing down to his shoulders in a single scalp-lock. Pulling back, the grelfon reared up on its heavily muscled rear legs as it pointed its head towards the ceiling. Its wings lifted high, the creature emitted a long, ear-splitting shriek.
Ghian stepped forward and turned in the young man’s direction. Caught in the flickering light of the many torches which burned in free-standing sconces against the walls, something glinted against his clothing. With both hands Ghian reached down and drew the young man to his feet. They stood face to face, and Karryl grimaced as his view of Ghian was temporarily and partly obscured. Swiftly Ghian turned away to face the assemblage of worshippers, priests and acolytes, before triumphantly holding something high in the air. Karryl gripped Magnor’s arm. The object which once again caught the torchlight as it was displayed to the distant shadowy corners of the massive temple, was the medallion.
