Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  He froze and pressed himself back against the wall as sounds of scuffling and then a voice came from somewhere close, just a little further down the staircase.

  'No… no… what are you… noooooooo!' The scream was horrendous, raising the hairs on his arms and making him feel physically sick. As the voice reduced down to a sobbing, a muttered conversation floated up to him.

  'You're doing it all wrong, young Yarbuk. The lever must be introduced gently. You can't just yank it down as you might the chain on a privy.' The chiding voice was deep and grating. 'Our task is dedicated to the power of Chaos; it cannot be rushed. Try once more and this time, do it with a little more spirit.'

  'Yes, Master,' came the eager reply, 'I will.' The victim's pleading whine immediately returned, begging for release before rising once more into a slow, wailing scream.

  'Oh, much better, and if you were to move the wheel at the same time… yes, that's very good… not too far… yes.'

  The screams rose to a peak and then stopped abruptly.

  'No, no, no… now he's lost consciousness again. Fetch some water, go.'

  With the beat of his heart increasing with every step, Pardigan forced himself on to the base of the steps where he gazed into the gloomy space beyond, his horror rising as the extent of the chamber was revealed.

  Strapped into some kind of large mechanical contraption in the centre was the person that Pardigan had heard screaming. A stained cloth hood covered his face and an even more stained loincloth his only clothing. Two black-cowled priests were attending him; one tightening straps and adjusting levers while the younger of the two filled a bucket from a deep trough of water. The priest hobbled back grinning and, nodding his head at the other, threw the water all over their victim. The man whimpered as consciousness returned. His feeble protests and immediate pleas for release being completely ignored.

  Maintaining a spell of invisibility, and keeping a check on his bladder, Pardigan moved into the room staying close to the wall and then edged carefully past racks of evil looking instruments. Flickering light cast from hundreds of red candles sent dancing shadows about the room, their heavy, greasy smoke rising high overhead to disappear into the darkness. An arched tunnel on the opposite side seemed to be the only other exit and appeared to lead even further down into the depths of the complex. Pardigan cautiously made his way around and glanced down into the darkness, he could just make out grilled cells disappearing into the distance. The sound of countless murmuring voices, cries and shouts of anger drifted up to him accompanied by the stinking reek of rotting flesh. Moving a little further down, Pardigan glanced into the first of the cells and saw the shadowy profiles of several bodies collapsed on the floor. Listless movement showed there was still some small vestige of life within, but the occupants were merely the pitiful remnants of human beings. Choking his disgust back, Pardigan moved on to the next. A man, skeletally thin stood alone in the centre of the chamber, head thrown back with his eyes fixed upon some unknown point in the ceiling, his whispered prayers echoing about the small chamber as tears slid down his cheeks.

  Other cells were empty, but most held one or more ragged figure. Stifling feelings of revulsion and pity, Pardigan returned to the main chamber. As he entered, a heavy clunk followed by a strange whirring sound drew his attention back to the macabre scene of the priests and their victim. They were still making various changes to the machine, the suffering man appeared to be unconscious again, and the pair were chattering happily.

  'I shall be leaving for my devotions in a few moments and shall return some time later.' The Priest turned to his younger assistant and holding him by the shoulders looked into his eyes. 'Well Yarbuk, my apprentice, it is time I entrusted you with something so I will allow you to continue here until I return. Fetch a small barrel of unguent oil and while I am at devotions, you may bring our friend here to the third station of glory. See if you can carry his suffering through until I return, draw out his agony and screams for the greater power of Chaos.

  'Yes Master, I shall not fail you.' The younger man scuttled off to fetch the oil and the old master shook his head, smiling at the eagerness of youth.

  Pardigan crept out, glancing about and picked up a heavy metal bar. Holding his breath and moving as softly as possible, he closed in and brought the bar down on the back of the priest's head, the blow connecting with a hollow crack. He watched in revulsion at his own actions as the old man crumpled to the floor. Visible now, Pardigan moved quickly. He freed the unconscious man from the machine, laid him gently on the floor and removed the hood. Turning to the fallen priest, he quickly stripped him of his black robe, placed the hood over his head and hauled him up into the contraption. He was heavy, and it wasn't easy, but eventually the old priest was lying back in the same position as the victim had been - arms and legs strapped down and his head restrained by wooden blocks. As an afterthought, Pardigan pulled the socks from the priest's feet, lifted the hood and stuffed them into his mouth. The old man moaned slightly but didn't regain consciousness.

  'Let's see how you like it grandpa!' muttered Pardigan. Glancing about he saw an empty water bucket and with a sigh, emptied his aching bladder. Once finished and feeling a little better, he dragged the prisoner back down the corridor and, springing the lock on an empty cell, laid him on the dirty straw pallet. The sound of running feet in the corridor made him hurry. Blinking into invisibility once more, he slipped out, leaving the cell unlocked. The apprentice, Yarbuk ran past, his sandaled feet slapping loudly on the stone floor, he was smiling and appeared anxious to return to his tasks.

  'Master?' Hearing no reply the apprentice giggled in anticipation of being alone and in charge and addressed his prisoner. 'No Master here I'm afraid, it is just you and I my friend, how nice that will be for us.' A few scraping and clanging sounds echoed around the chamber and then the machine coughed into life with much banging and whooshing of steam.

  Moving down the corridor, Pardigan opened the lock to as many cells as he was able, then came back to where the lone man still stood in his cell staring at the ceiling.

  'I've opened your doors, as many as I could… if you can hear me, mister… hello? Anyway, I've opened the doors to all the cells. You can try to get others out if you wish… I'm sorry, but that's all I can do for you all… I'm sorry, I have to go.' The prisoner gave no sign of hearing him, but Pardigan realised he could do little for these people; maybe they were already lost.

  As he passed through the torture chamber he watched as Yarbuk attached thin chains to his victim with clamps. The prone figure was twitching and moving about, moaning a little as he started to regain consciousness. Picking up the bucket, the young apprentice tipped the contents over his victim's head then looked at the wet hood, now clinging to the prisoner's face, and sniffed at the bucket suspiciously. Shrugging his shoulders, he set it down to regard his twitching victim, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  'Dance for me, yes, that's right, and soon you can sing again for the great glory of Chaos… you like to dance eh? So nice… are you ready to begin, my stinky friend?'

  Pardigan moved quickly on, dashing for the staircase that he had entered from, smiling yet unwilling to watch the apprentice torture his Master.

  * * *

  'There's another… there… behind that big rock there. I can't get him with an arrow; he's too quick, but maybe…' The strange whooshing sound of Loras casting a glowing ball of blue energy at the offending rock drowned out whatever Tarent was about to say next. He flinched down covering his ears as all the air surrounding them was sucked away, drawn by the spell, which ended with an ear-shattering 'WUMP' as it struck the front of the rock. The warrior jumped up, slapping at his ears and staggered away completely stunned, making strange wailing sounds as he tripped and stumbled down the slope.

  Another group had joined the first, keeping well hidden, and seemingly content to fire the occasional arching volley of arrows, forcing the travellers to remain pinned down, presumably waiting
until even more reinforcements arrived.

  'We have to make a break soon. It's already starting to get dark, and we're going to have to sleep at some time. That's when they'll overrun us.' Tarent furiously wiggled a finger in each ear in an attempt to clear them from the sound of Loras's spells. He stared up at the dark clouds speeding past overhead and shivered, clamping his hood closed to keep out the chill wind. It had stopped snowing a short while ago, but the temperature was dropping fast as the light was receding.

  'Can't you cast some sort of sleeping spell,' asked Tarent. Loras shook his head, but Magician Falk turned from where he had just brushed an arrow aside.

  'You mean as I did on the boat? I suppose I could try something like that, but they're all so spread out. We have to do something soon, my arms are aching so much that all my powers of self-healing are becoming ineffective. I can't keep raising them like this, they're wearing me out.'

  'Well, just send some of them to sleep?'

  'No,' said Loras with a smile. 'I have a much better idea.'

  'If you can throw a few fire bolts or something, I can at least try and send a message to Quint. Maybe they can come and help?'

  'Don't worry Tarent, watch. I need to stand up for this, cover me for a moment,' Loras stood up, closed his eyes and slowly started to lift his arms as a he formed a spell. To Tarent it looked like he was just offering himself as a better target.

  'Loras, no… stay down for Source sake!' he hissed, but Loras ignored him. Tarent took one last look at him and then cast about for a target to shoot yet another arrow. Loras swayed, deep in concentration, a strange humming sound coming from deep within him. Even facing away, seeking yet another target, Tarent was aware of the prickling energy that his friend was creating. Loras's sleeves began flapping even though the wind around them had died to almost nothing as if the world and all its elements were drawing in breath. As with much of Loras's magic it was all very strange until it was let loose and things happened, so Tarent waited and prayed to the Source that his friend would come up with something good… and then the wind came.

  It had already been a windy day with gusts blowing snow and sleet around them in chill squalls, but the gale that Loras now summoned was far more than anything they had seen so far. It hit the Barbarians with a howling rage driving branches and rocks over their position as it tore along the pass and down the sides of the mountains. Tarent dropped his bow, which in this wind was now quite useless and looked back at Loras. With eyes glowing a brilliant blue, the young Magician was smiling. 'Oh Source, Loras,' muttered Tarent. He turned away and glanced over towards where most of the attackers had dug in. Then, several Barbarians leapt up and ran, chased from hiding as larger rocks, were driven directly to crash and shatter amongst them, scouring the ground in a constant explosion of violence. One by one the warriors jumped up and ran, realising that there was no protection to be found, desperate in their haste to escape or be killed.

  Standing beside Loras, Magician Falk sent his own magic after the retreating figures, drawing down the wisps of cloud from above and forming it into the shapes of hideous spectres to chase the frightened Barbarians giving focus for the howling scream of the wind. The Barbarians' world had truly turned to madness. It took very little time to rout the remaining attackers and as soon as they could, the two Magicians stopped. The storm abated, and Loras staggered slightly as his arms came down to hang leaden and useless at his sides.

  'Let's go. I can't do this again, in fact, I don't think I can ride.' He dropped to his knees, and his head sagged to his chest. 'I need to lie down in the back of the wagon. Tarent caught his friend as he pitched forward and with the help of Magician Falk, carried Loras over to the wagon. Bartholomew peaked out from under some blankets as the unconscious Magician was laid inside. He covered him and nodded to Tarent – this time there would be no complaints from Bartholomew Bask.

  With the light finally fading, the small band continued on towards the coast with Tarent keeping a very careful eye out for the return of any danger.

  * * *

  Pardigan retraced his steps through the deep passageways of the Chaos temple, dashing as quietly as he could down the candlelit corridor eager to be gone from this awful place. As he passed each door to a sleeping quarter that had a bolt, he took the time to slide the bolt quietly home hoping to trap a few priests in their beds.

  He was soon back in the main hall, his eyes now more accustomed to the near darkness. The group chanting on the central podium were still, deep in meditation and quite unaware of any unusual activity around them. He passed through the gloom, navigating the benches and pews and hoped Mahra wasn't hiding somewhere in the form of a cat. As he entered the small entrance hall where his friends were waiting, he dropped his spell of invisibility directly in front of Quint - just because he knew it would upset him. Elisop, who was standing close by and unused to Pardigan's entrances, fell back with a cry, bumped into the table, grabbed hold of the heavy cloth covering and then fell to the floor with hot candle wax and incense splattering all over him, he shoved it all away, blabbering incoherently. A moment later Quint also lost his battle with balance and fell back heavily on top of the whimpering spy who let out an 'Oomph!'

  'Shhhhh!' Quint glared up at his grinning friend then turned around to help Elisop back to his feet.

  'That's not funny, Pardigan,' he hissed, 'the next time you do that I'm going to…'

  'Oh, leave him, Quint, he'll never grow up,' said Mahra shaking her head. She turned to the grinning Pardigan. 'So did you find anything?'

  'Oh, yes,' said Pardigan still trying not to laugh, 'but nothing you really want to hear about. What about you?'

  'Well, one door off of the main hall led to lots of stairs, they go up a long way, too far for me to check out properly, another was full of these nasty red candles, nothing much else and apparently there isn't much through there.' She nodded to the doorway that Quint and Elisop had investigated.

  'I think we have to look inside that chest, don't you?' said Quint.

  Pardigan nodded in reluctant agreement. 'It's that, or we grab one of those priests and try and persuade him to tell us where the skulls are, but I don't like the idea of that much. Maybe I can sneak a look while I'm invisible, but I want you lot close, just in case. I think one of the priests could almost see me earlier.' Without explaining further, he turned and headed back into the hall.

  Making his way through the maze of benches, Pardigan couldn't hear his friends entering the temple behind him, but he could sense them. He cast about, his eyes straining once again in the deep heavy gloom. The air was thickest with pungent smoke close to the central area and the platform where the priests crouched around the fire pit. The closer he got, the more his eyes stung and watered. He rubbed at them but it only seemed to make things worse so made do with pulling his cloak up to cover as much of his face as he could so at least he wasn't breathing in too much of the noxious fumes, but his eyes still stung. With his chest heaving from a lack of breathable air and trying not to cough or gag, he edged over beside the platform. The meditating priests were on the opposite side of the fire pit and as far as Pardigan could see several were now carefully chalking a design on the floor while two remained kneeling, hoods covering their faces as they continued to mumble and chant their incantation. Flickers of red energy moved about the pattern as it grew occasionally sending small puffs of coloured smoke twisting and turning like writhing snakes up into the darkness. Pardigan decided he had to try and ignore the priests and whatever it was they were doing. He slipped around some benches and up onto the platform behind the huge chest. As he glanced over to check that the priests were still busy, he felt his eyes drawn to the pit of flickering fire.

  Part of his brain was immediately captured, mesmerised, by the lapping flames that swirled and danced, spiralling downwards, dragging his eyes into the impossible depths. However, there was still enough of his mind that remained his own, wishing he hadn't looked, screaming at himself to turn his eyes aw
ay. The heat of the flames now began to register on him, blistering his face, the smoke reaching back into his head trying to sear his eyes from their sockets. Swaying, he tried to fight the incredible pull and, with difficulty, finally managed to wrench his attention away. As soon as his eyes broke contact the spell was broken, and the heat disappeared. He flopped back down behind the chest gasping for breath and dropped his invisibility spell.

  After a few moments, he was able to pull himself together enough to blink into invisibility and once more turn his attention to the chest, this time refusing to let his eyes wander towards the pit.

  The chest was large, constructed from some heavy dark wood carved with what looked like pictures. He ran his finger over the carvings and realised, with a sense of revulsion, that they were scenes of terrible violence and torture. It reminded him of a big coffin, and for one awful moment he pictured it full of dead putrefying bodies. Withdrawing his shaking hand, he decided not to study the carvings any more, but just concentrate on getting the Source cursed thing open. Moving around to the side closest to the priests and still invisible, he did his best not to look into the flames and turned his back on both flames and priests. He was delighted to find there was no lock; just a simple wooden peg holding the lid in place, he smiled. A quick glance behind to the silent priests confirmed they were still busy, so he slipped the peg, lifted the top and peered inside, ready to drop the lid quickly if there really were bodies in there.