by B. J. Beach
On both sides of the road, beyond the grelfons and close up under the low hedge, oddly shaped mounds of snow formed lumpy ridges stretching back beyond the limit of visibility. His suspicions aroused, Karryl focussed on the strangely familiar shape of one of the larger mounds. He was not really surprised to see that it was trembling and in danger of losing its top layer. Shifting his gaze he focussed on one of the snow-mounds opposite. That too was trembling. Then it sneezed. Nothing moved except the deep eiderdown of snow which slithered off the soldier’s back and head to land beside him. He stared at Karryl but remained silent, moving nothing voluntarily but watching him intently. At the risk of alarming the crouching soldier Karryl picked his spot and translocated. The grelfons now lay about fifteen paces behind him. Drawing power, he turned swiftly. His sudden arrival in front of them had elicited no response. Not only were their eyes closed, but snow was beginning to settle on the feathered backs and drooping wings.
He took a gamble. “Captain Vintar. Are you nearby?”
Just ahead and to his left a mound of snow shook and collapsed as Vintar rose slowly to his feet. The captain’s low murmur matched Karryl’s. “Master Karryl. Are you alone?”
“No. Symon is back there. We’re half expecting reinforcements, but I don’t think we’ll need them. Come over here and I’ll show you what I mean.”
Caution guiding every step, Vintar crossed the snow-filled road to stand beside the magician. Karryl pointed out the grelfon’s closed eyes and the settling of snow on its back then indicated a spot under the beast’s belly. “If you watch that carefully, you’ll see it rising and falling very slowly.”
Vintar peered at the spot for a while then looked at Karryl. “They’re still alive then?”
Karryl smiled grimly. “Yes, but only just. They’re in a chilled torpor; freezing to death. They come from a hot dry country. Consequently their bodies couldn’t cope with the vagaries of our winter.”
Vintar studied the torpid beasts for a long moment. “Shall we just leave them here then?”
“Not a good idea. It only needs the weather to suddenly turn warmer and if there’s a spark of life left they might liven up again.”
Vintar looked along the lines of snow-bumps. “Wyke? Where are you?”
The soldier, who had sneezed and then stared balefully at Karryl, broke away from the hedge.
He crept forward cradling a canvas-wrapped bundle. “Are they dead, sir?”
“As good as, bowman Wyke, but I’ll get you to finish them off. It should be an easy shot from here.”
Wyke looked dubious as he removed the canvas wrapping from his crossbow. “Happen it will be, if t’bow stayed dry.”
A few of the snow mounds began to move, and Vintar hissed a sharp order. “Platoon, hold your positions!”
The mounds stopped moving. Karryl and Vintar both winced as the sound of the crossbow’s ratchet shattered the stillness of the air. The bow cocked, Wyke slid the bolt into its slot, released the safety, took careful aim, and shot. The bolt’s eerie scream cut abruptly short as it found its target, burying itself deep in the grelfon’s scaly brow-ridge. Quickly, Wyke cocked and reloaded, despatching the second beast with ruthless efficiency.
Slowly he lowered his crossbow, a smile of grim satisfaction on his cold-pinched face. “Happen that only leaves one then sir, going by young Gilfric’s reckoning.”
He found he was talking to himself. Vintar was already moving quickly along the two lines of snow-mounds, rousing his platoon into action, their rapid breathing sending white streamers into the icy air. With much stamping of feet and beating of cold and cramped arms round shivering bodies, the platoon stumbled haphazardly onto the road. In their discomfort they barely noticed the snowfall had abated quite considerably, the blizzard’s fury finally spent. Their weapons retrieved from a hastily built stack under a nearby tree, pike-men joined the remainder of the platoon gathered round Karryl and Wyke. Two of the snow-mounds had failed to move. Fearing the worst, Vintar and Sgt. Darke took two men each and ran back to investigate.
The muffled, crunching cadence of running feet had every soldier with his hand on his short-sword. Cold and discomfort forgotten, to a man they turned in the direction of the sound. His hand raised high to forestall any unnecessary hostile move, Karryl stepped forward. A familiar figure ploughed along the verge towards them, churning up the undisturbed snow. Five others followed close behind, similarly clad in sturdy boots and hunting clothes beneath weather-proof hide coats. Scabbarded broadswords hung at their hips, while long sturdy lengths of curved wood hung angled across their backs. Symon brought up the rear, his round face glowing with a combination of cold and exertion.
Karryl hurriedly introduced Magnor, then stepped back to let him introduce his men. Cold steel hissed slowly back into scabbards. They had progressed no further than brief handshakes when Vintar’s urgent shout rang out from the rear. His five hunters detailed to stand watch for the third grelfon, Magnor joined Karryl in a rush back along the road. Soldiers’ boots crumped and thudded, compressing new snow into thick black lumps of ice as the platoon followed.
The Royal Messenger’s limp form lay draped, head lolling, across Vintar’s knees. Captain and a corporal knelt in the snow, urgently chafing Gilfric’s hands. Off to one side, the inert form of another soldier was receiving attention from Sgt. Darke, his men attempting to shake the man into consciousness. Pushing through the forest of soldiers, Symon scurried forward and crouched down in front of Vintar. Holding out his hand palm downwards, the magician passed it slowly about an inch above Gilfric’s body. Not willing to trust his decision to just one pass, he repeated the action, pausing at vital points in the hope that there was a tenacious something still clinging on.
With a slow shake of his head, Symon stood up. “I am afraid he has gone, Captain Vintar. Cold and exhaustion have taken their toll.”
Vintar turned anguished eyes up to the little magician. “Is there nothing you can do?”
Symon gave him a wan smile. “I only wish there were, but no life-spark remains. Even my powers will not raise the dead. Allow me to take him to the Infirmary and inform his parents. They can at least take some small comfort from knowing that their son died in the service of his country.”
Vintar and his corporal stood up and lifted Gilfric’s body up out of the snow. Symon removed his woollen coat and wrapped it tenderly round the boy’s lifeless form, covering the pale young face with the hood. With Gilfric cradled close to his chest, Symon closed his eyes, murmured a short phrase and vanished.
Apart from a momentary tingling of his skin, Karryl was unaware of the tragedy which had just taken place just behind him. Kneeling on the trampled verge beside Sgt. Darke he sought for the life-spark in the soldier who had succumbed to the blizzard. Slowly he moved his hands over him, concentrating like Symon on the points where he knew the spark, if there was one, would burn brightest.
Keeping his voice low, Darke leaned towards Karryl. “I reckon bowman Parry’s gone sir. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing.”
Karryl didn’t reply as he moved his hands to the top of Parry’s head and began to repeat his scanning. Reaching a point near the bowman’s collar-bone, the young magician paused.
His dark eyes flashed. “Sergeant; quickly! We need something else to rest this man on. What I am about to do requires that no one but me is touching him.”
One of the two soldiers with them dashed away. Fingers flying, Karryl began to remove the now sodden blanket which had been wrapped around Parry’s body.
Gently he lifted the bowman’s skinned and raw hands and frowned. “Was this man attacked?”
At that moment the soldier returned with a thick blanket, this one comparatively dry. Darke replied as he helped Karryl lift Parry onto it. “No sir. After Wyke killed the first creature, Parry tried to retrieve the bolt. He fell into a pool of the evil black mess it had spouted out. He panicked and Wyke had to knock him out. When he came round the stuff had set. It took his ski
n off when we helped him out of his clothes.”
The corners of Karryl’s mouth turned down. “It’s to be hoped there’s no lasting damage.”
Aided by Magnor and his companions, the rest of the platoon had rid themselves of their heavy covering of snow. Not all of them noticed that hands stayed on their shoulders just a little longer than was needed. It was only when a few of them commented on how they could feel a pleasant warmth creeping through their bodies, that some of them begin to suspect they were in the company of more than just huntsmen.
Magnor trotted down the road to where Karryl knelt beside the cold and motionless form of bowman Parry. “Need any help, Master Karryl?”
The young magician grimaced. “I may do, if my first result isn’t encouraging.”
Magnor knelt close beside him, hands resting on knees. The remainder of the platoon, under warning from Vintar, moved up to gather round and watch from a discreet distance. Unwilling to aggravate the bowman’s sore hands any further, Karryl shuffled down until he was by his feet. Quickly he removed the black-splattered boots. With his long hands wrapped round Parry’s bony ankles, Karryl closed his eyes. At that moment a screaming, blood-curdling roar split the air. Shouts of warning went up as Magnor’s huntsmen raised the alarm. Ignoring the sudden cacophony of steel hissing from scabbards, running feet and barked orders, Karryl held his concentration.
Another huge grelfon had materialised a short way back from the spot where Symon and Karryl had arrived only a short while before. Wyke had already taken his first shot. Missing the vital spot on the attacking grelfon’s brow-ridge, the bolt had lodged in the side of the creature’s neck. Enraged by the vicious sting of the cold steel, it voided a foul, steaming greenish-black torrent in the direction of its attackers. Its potency diminished by the cold air, the vile effluence fell short, splattering in coagulating sheets over the backs and wings of its lifeless kin. With Parry out of action, Buller and Carter ran up to flank Wyke, cocking and loading with a speed and efficiency born of long practice. Magnor’s men were faster. Arrows were nocked to strings and released in a blur of motion, filling the chilled air with the deadly susurration of flying shafts. As the crossbow-men took aim, a second volley of arrows sped eagerly to find their target, followed by the sharp thwack of crossbows sending their bolts whistling after them. Each projectile found a mark, but the most telling was the long, white-feathered shaft protruding from one of the massive beast’s reptilian eyes.
Lifting its immense, five-sectioned wings the grelfon thrust forward its sinuous scaly neck. With a frenzied ululating scream, it launched itself violently into the air and towards the horrified bowmen, initiating a rapid but orderly retreat. Crippled by an arrow-torn wing, pierced neck and a blinded eye, the creature’s counter-attacking flight was doomed to failure. Lumbering and unsteady, it lost height and co-ordination. The massive body tilted, tumbling heavily towards the snow-covered ground. With a final screech of defiance and an explosive thump it landed amid the glutinous stinking mess of grelfon corpses. As it attempted to lift its scaly, lizard-like head, Adrick, one of Magnor’s huntsmen, ran forward.
A long clear note rang through the sudden silence as his broadsword sang from its scabbard, and with one hefty stroke the huntsman brought the deadly blade whistling down. Cleanly severed, the creature’s head fell away from the neck to land with a sickening squelch, the pale yellowish ichor which served as blood dripping and oozing down to mingle with icy slush. Stomachs heaved and fatigued arms and legs trembled as soldiers and huntsmen stared appalled at the noxious remains.
A hundred paces away and only dimly aware of the dramatic events taking place behind him, Karryl held his power in check, slowly releasing a steady trickle through Parry’s gradually warming body. The bowman stirred. Karryl broke contact, allowing the recovery to continue naturally.
Magnor stood up, brushing snow off his knees. “Be back in a while. Just going to see what’s happened back there.”
Only half hearing, Karryl nodded absently, his gaze firmly fixed on the bowman’s pallid face. Magnor hurried away. Parry opened his eyes. Only then did Karryl place a hand on the trembling bowman’s shoulder and gradually initiated a warming spell.
As the trembling abated and a little colour returned to the man’s face, Karryl wrapped the loose folds of the blanket round him and stood up. “You’re in no danger now. Lie there quietly, and I’ll be back soon.”
Bowman Parry’s response was a weak little smile, and Karryl set off after Magnor.
Allowing the men no chance to brood on the events they had just witnessed, Vintar and Sgt. Darke soon had them prepared to march. Magnor and his huntsmen surveyed the stinking heap of grelfon corpses. Murmurs of approval rose in the cold air as Adrick contemptuously wiped his blade clean on the feathered shoulders of the one he had beheaded.
As Karryl joined them, Vintar took him to one side, keeping his voice low. “How is bowman Parry?”
Karryl glanced back before replying. “He’ll recover with no harm done, but he’s too weak to march.” He gestured towards Magnor and his men. “We’ll bring him back with us. Tell me Captain. Is he any kin to Master Jack Parry?”
Vintar rubbed his cold hands together and nodded. “He is indeed. They’re brothers, but Jack has the brains and Will has the brawn. I’ve had the good fortune to see them working together. They make a formidable pairing.”
Magician and Captain turned as Sgt. Darke approached and snapped up a salute. “The men are ready to march sir. There is speculation that this last monster might not be the one that poor young Gilfric saw. He said he saw a small one in a field, further on.” He pointed in the direction of Vellethen.
Returning the salute, Vintar’s expression was dark. “Get them moving Sergeant and tell them to keep their eyes open. If there is another, and it’s a small one, it may well have succumbed to the cold and died, but let’s not take any chances.”
As his Sergeant returned to brief the platoon, Vintar gave Karryl a long look then jerked a thumb at the sagging heap in the middle of the road. “I presume you’re going to… er… you know… with that lot?”
Karryl chuckled. “Yes, we are going to… you know… that lot.”
Briefly they clasped hands. Vintar hurried away to catch up with his platoon, the steady cadence of their march already being carried back on the biting wind which had risen to follow the blizzard in from the sea.
Magnor studied the messy pile of grelfon corpses, then turned to Karryl and raised an eyebrow. “How do you feel about transporting these? It’ll take a fair bit of power. There’s a lot more to shift than we had at the palace.”
The young Mage-Prime grinned. “Power won’t be the problem. I just hope I can hold my breath long enough to work an enclosing spell that will cover them all.”
Magnor chuckled as he and Karryl moved to take up position on opposite sides of the grisly heap. Their first attempt at the spell collapsed before it was even half complete as, to Karryl’s surprise, it was Magnor who succumbed to the appalling stench and had to step away to take some deep breaths of fresh air. Karryl also stepped back and turned away as his broad brow furrowed.
He was still lost in thought when Magnor nudged his elbow. “Sorry about that. Perhaps I should have held my breath too. Shall we start again?
Karryl held up a finger as his mouth slowly curved in a knowing smile. “I believe I’ve thought of an alternative. It should be possible to translocate them out into the ocean, unless you want to take them back to study.”
His companion released a long and visible breath of relief. “Not at all. We’ve got enough to study. Let’s do it. That’s a miasma I don’t want to contend with for too much longer.”
Karryl nodded in agreement, then turned and stared at the remains, which were still creaking and squelching as they settled. For the benefit of the onlooking huntsmen, he spread his arms out to his sides, palms upwards and murmured a short phrase. The result was not quite what Karryl was expecting. Instead of simply v
anishing, the whole mass rose about two feet into the air and hung there, slowly becoming transparent until the road, the snow-covered verges and the hedge beyond were all quite visible, resembling the view through a rain-wet window. The Mage-Prime found himself in a quandary. Was this simply an after-image, or an amorphous duplicate? As if in answer to his unspoken question, one of the huntsmen nocked an arrow and sent it whistling towards the deepest section of the suspended image. The arrow sailed cleanly through, its barbed head piercing a thick snow-covered tussock.
He looked at Magnor whose expression of extreme puzzlement matched his own. “Now what?”
Magnor shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen a transference spell do that before. Where did you send them?”
“I visualised the ocean about three miles east of the palace. I’ve heard it’s pretty deep there, and it’s away from the shipping lane.” He took a pace forward and peered at the glassy image. “Well, we can’t just leave that there.”
With his hands tucked inside the sleeves of his robe, he paced slowly back and forth, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as he frowned in concentration.
After a few minutes he stopped in front of Magnor who also appeared to be lost in thought. “Do you think that if I repeated the spell, it would get rid of that as well?”
Magnor grimaced. “Hm-m-m-m. It’s not exactly a solid object, is it? There’s a chance the spell could turn and send the nearest solid object instead.”
Karryl’s face brightened. “That’s all right then!” He pointed to the arrow, still lodged in the tussock. “It will transfer that and hopefully take our problem with it.”
Magnor looked dubious, but nodded. “I suppose it’s worth a try. Just give me a couple of seconds to get out of the way.” He shrugged as Karryl glared at him. “Well, you never know.”
