The City of Stars (Chronicles of the Magi Book 3)

by Dave Morris

  From here the tombs were tiny heaps of pebbles, the bay a silver-blue mirror whose glare made the distant rooftops of Crescentium shimmer like a mirage.

  Galor pointed to a wide shelf of rock in front of a cave. ‘That’s where we have go.’

  They sidled along a tortuous ledge, Galor showing no fear despite the sheer drop below. To Caelestis, as sure-footed as a goat, it was no more worrying than a stroll along the street. Only Altor was careful not to look down.

  They reached the cave entrance. The sun made the rocks around them as hot as a furnace, but the interior of the cave exuded a dank chill.

  ‘Is this it?’ said Caelestis, stepping down off the ledge. ‘We’ll be able to see the Roc’s nest from here?’

  ‘Ssh,’ said Altor. ‘We don’t want to disturb it.’

  ‘Too late for that!’ cried Galor in sudden glee. ‘Fools—this very cave is the Roc’s eyrie. I have brought you to your doom.’

  And from the depths of the cave came the harsh shriek of a giant bird of prey.

  Six:

  Green Flame

  Galor had something in his hand: a green glass globe. He was about to throw it down, but before he could do so Caelestis grabbed his arm. The two swung around, grappling off balance on the brink of the ledge. The glass globe slipped from Galor’s hand and fell. It cracked and liquid green flames spread across the rock, cutting off any hope of retreat the way they had come.

  Galor stopped struggling with Caelestis and stared in horror. ‘No...’ he gasped. ‘Now I’m trapped here too.’

  ‘Serves you right.’

  Something huge was moving towards the cave entrance. Both Altor and Caelestis drew their swords and backed to the far side of the ledge, away from the barrier of green flame.

  ‘What is it, Galor?’ said Caelestis. ‘The Roc?’

  Galor huddled down on the ledge, his muscles going slack with sheer terror. He looked as if he was trying to make himself so small and insignificant that the creature wouldn’t notice him.

  ‘Just one question,’ growled Altor: ‘why?’

  ‘My master, Green Flame, commanded it,’ said Galor in a trembling voice.

  Caelestis looked at Altor. ‘About people from Krarth—in future we’ll just assume they’re all untrustworthy, okay?’

  Galor was gazing into the darkness that filled the interior of the cave. Loud scratchings and rustlings reverberated out of the depths. White with dread, Galor seemed as if he was in a trance now. ‘It was while I slept,’ he muttered. ‘I saw his face in the northern lights and he told me what I must do. In a tomb, as he directed, I found that magic globe and a map that showed where the Roc had its eyrie. But now the globe is broken.’ He cast a sidelong glance at the wall of leaping flames. ‘He said it would trap you. It has trapped me too.’

  Caelestis took a step towards the flames, but the heat was too intense. He looked back at Altor and shook his head. ‘We’d be burned to a crisp.’

  ‘Too late anyway. Here it comes,’ said Altor. He set himself in the middle of the ledge, his silver sword glimmering green in the eldritch firelight.

  It came with a screech to freeze the blood. A beak like a warship’s prow, glaring eyes like burnished shields, talons that could crush a horse—the Roc erupted from its lair to face them.

  Its eyes swept across the ledge. Caelestis and Altor had never felt anything like the merciless icy intensity of that gaze. For an instant they felt as if the Angel of Death himself had turned to take notice of them.

  Then Caelestis realized something. It was not only mindless ferocity that he saw in those huge terrifying eyes, but confusion and pain. Emerging suddenly from its gloomy cavern into the blistering daylight of mid-afternoon, the Roc was blinded.

  Caelestis’s sword touched a rock outcropping as he edged sideways. Instantly the giant hawk swung its head to face him. The ruff of feathers around its neck bristled and it opened its beak to give vent to another petrifying screech.

  It was poised to strike. Caelestis had to act at once. He dived to one side, at the same time throwing his voice so that it seemed as if Galor had cried out in fear.

  The Roc snapped its gaze around to where Galor was cowering. A wing swept out, as huge and swift and unstoppable as a ship’s boom. Then Galor was gone, and they did not even hear a cry as he fell.

  Altor stepped forward and thrust his sword towards the Roc’s neck, hoping to impale it with one strong blow, but it jerked its head back so that he barely drew blood. Lashing out again, it buffeted him aside and he went staggering to the very lip of the ledge. For a moment he teetered over the side and had a sickening view hundreds of feet straight down. Galor lay far below, a tiny smear of red on the sharp grey rocks.

  Altor’s free hand shot out and by luck found a jutting rock to hold on to. He swung himself back to safety. The Roc stared madly back at him and for an instant he was reminded of the fanatic gaze of Sir Tobias. Altor smiled, knowing that once the Roc’s vision cleared he would be smiling in the face of Death.

  Caelestis was beside the barrier of flames. The heat was so intense that it singed his clothes. He could see from the attack Altor had made that weapons would be useless against such a gigantic foe.

  ‘Here I am!’ he bellowed at the top of his lungs. ‘Come and get me!’

  The Roc jabbed its beak towards him. Caelestis stood for a split-second transfixed as he saw it shooting towards him, then at the last moment he flung himself flat. The Roc’s head disappeared into the wall of fire.

  There was a shriek that sounded like the sky tearing in half. Pounding its claws, huge wings beating in panic, the Roc writhed to and fro across the ledge. Flames completely engulfed its head and the air was choking with the stench of burning flesh and feathers.

  Blindly it lashed out towards Altor. The only way he could avoid being crushed by the talons was to catch hold of the creature’s leg. He realized his mistake a moment later when the Roc launched itself off into space.

  Caelestis jumped, grabbing the Roc’s tail feathers, and the two of them were carried off the ledge.

  The Roc fell, a plume of sparks and smoke streaming from its burning head. The cliff rushed past, jagged razors of rock leapt up. Caelestis and Altor both shouted in alarm and held on for grim death.

  They feared the Roc was too badly wounded to fly, but then it spread its wings and with slow powerful beats rose up into the sky.

  Above was an ice-blue bowl in which the sun burned bright gold. The clouds looked close enough to touch. As the wind whipped by, the two heroes caught their breath and looked down to see the coast pass beneath them. Tiny figures pointed up. They seemed to be shouting, but it was too far to hear what they were saying. Caelestis and Altor could barely hear each other.

  ‘We’ve got to let go!’ called Caelestis.

  Altor cast a glum look down at the sea. He feared no foe he could hold a weapon to, but heights were another matter.

  ‘Altor,’ Caelestis insisted, ‘we’ve got to let go now, before we get too far out from the coast.’

  Altor shook his head. He knew Caelestis was right but his arms and legs, wrapped tightly around the Roc’s leg, refused to budge. ‘You’d better go without me,’ he said through chattering teeth.

  Caelestis was not having that. He had no intention of letting Altor sacrifice himself. Dropping his sword, he used his free hand to swing down from the giant bird’s tail feathers towards the leg where Altor clung.

  The Roc, incensed by pain and panic, shook its legs furiously. Caelestis slipped, but caught a fistful of feathers and climbed around towards Altor.

  ‘I can’t let go,’ said Altor. He managed a sheepish grin. ‘Stupid really.’

  ‘First of all, let me have that.’ Caelestis took the sword out of his hand and sheathed it.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want you to drop it in the sea.’

  Caelestis took a firm grip on the Roc’s leg with his left hand, braced his feet on its claws, and
swung his right fist solidly into the middle of his friend’s face.

  Altor was a strong young man—stronger than many a warrior in his prime. Caelestis could never have knocked him out. But the shock of the blow alone was enough to loosen his grip. ‘Ow,’ he said with a comical frown as he went plummeting down towards the sea.

  Caelestis jumped after him. It was too far to attempt a dive. As he fell tumbling, he cast a last look up at the Roc which flew like a blazing comet out to sea. Then the water came rushing up and slammed the life out of him.

  Caelestis was dreaming about a beautiful maiden, one of the houris who welcomed the faithful into the Ta’ashim paradise. Finding Caelestis borne into the afterlife on a golden barge, having died a doubtless heroic death, she bent to revive him with a long lingering kiss.

  The kiss tasted of saltwater. And the houri had coarse bristles on her chin. Deciding he didn’t like paradise after all, Caelestis opened his eyes to find Altor about to give him mouth-to-mouth.

  ‘You can keep your lips to yourself, thanks very much,’ he said grumpily.

  ‘Fine.’ Altor sat down on the sand beside him. ‘Sorry I couldn’t find a pretty girl to do the job.’

  ‘Oh God, I’ve broken my back.’ Caelestis sat up. ‘Well, maybe not. But it feels like it. And all my other bones too.’

  A crowd was starting to gather from the local fishing village. ‘Do you see that big bird?’ said a child.

  ‘That was the Roc, son,’ said the boy’s father.

  ‘See it?’ said Caelestis, holding up a feather as long as his arm. ‘We were clinging onto it.’

  There was a gasp from the villagers. ‘That’s amazing!’ said a man with ears like cauliflowers. ‘A Roc’s feather. How much do you want for it?’

  Altor got wearily to his feet. ‘We nearly drowned, and you want to start bargaining for a feather.’

  ‘That’s okay, Altor,’ said Caelestis. He bounded to his feet, all aches quite forgotten, and went over to the man. ‘Now, your name is..?’

  ‘I am Wuraq, the son of Abdalla the net-maker.’

  ‘Wuraq, I take it you own a fishing boat?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Well, this feather is obviously worth a great deal. It’s almost unique, after all. You could get a tidy sum for it in Crescentium market...’

  ‘You want to exchange it for my boat? By all means.’

  Caelestis handed the feather over with a frown. He distrusted any deal made so readily.

  ‘We should set sail without delay,’ said Altor.

  Wuraq said nothing, but looked along the beach as though preoccupied.

  They followed him up the beach to the village, followed by the other fisher-folk and a horde of scrawny children, brown as nuts, who plucked at their clothes and screeched to be given presents.

  Altor scowled at them, relented and reached into his money-pouch. He held out his hand to the nearest child, who was astonished when a heavy coin dropped in the sand at his feet. The din of shouting stopped as the children all stared in disbelief at the glittering silver florin.

  ‘Now—be off with you, eh?’ said Altor, but not unkindly.

  The silence lasted just a second, then the whole crowd came to life as one. Snatching up the coin, the child gave a delighted yell and tore off down the beach with his friends at his heels, tossing the coin up into the air and catching it. Altor watched with a smile, seeing the way the little faces lit up when the sunlight glanced off the spinning coin.

  ‘Oh, give our money away by all means,’ said Caelestis sarcastically.

  Before Altor could reply, another voice said: ‘The Father of All sees your kindness and will reward you for it.’

  They turned. Beside them stood an extremely old and gnarled Ta’ashim woman. ‘This is my grandmother,’ said Wuraq. ‘They are very generous, grandmother. See this magnificent feather? They gave it to me in exchange for my boat.’

  ‘We need to sail out into the Gulf of Marazid,’ said Altor.

  Eyes flashing, he old woman glared at Wuraq and began to berate him in the Ta’ashim tongue. He merely stood listening, now and then giving a stubborn shake of his head. Suddenly she made a grab for the feather. Wuraq snatched it away, both tugged for a few seconds, and the quill broke. There were a few seconds silence while everyone stared at the ruined Roc’s feather—in perfect condition a priceless treasure, but now worth not so much as a copper penny.

  The old lady turned to Altor and Caelestis. ‘My shiftless grandson has cheated you. There is his boat!’

  She stabbed her finger down the shore and they turned to see what vessel they had bought.

  ‘I don’t see any boat,’ said Caelestis, puzzled. ‘There’s just that pile of rotting driftwood.’

  And then it dawned on him. The pile of driftwood was their boat.

  Seven:

  The Horse

  Sunset drenched the coast in a welter of black and red, but the darkness did not last long. Soon a full moon rose, bright as a silver coin. The sea lay still, a sheet of black onyx rippled with slow phosphorescent waves.

  Caelestis hurled a pebble into the water in frustration. ‘According to Sussurien’s chart we have less than twenty-four hours to reach the place where the Devil’s Runner will appear. Even if we were given the best yacht in the Middle East, and a crew of expert sailors to man her, we still couldn’t make it.’

  Altor sighed. ‘We’ll have to go back to Sussurien—‘

  ‘He won’t still be there. He’s on his way to Hakbad by now.’

  ‘Well then, we’ll seek him out in Hakbad and think of some other way to find the swords.’

  Footsteps in the soft sand broke made them turn. It was Wuraq. ‘You’ve got a nerve showing your face,’ snorted Caelestis.

  Wuraq at least had the decency to look ashamed. ‘I am sorry. What can I say? Greed got the better of me—I thought I could sell the Roc’s feather and never have to work again. But God has meted out a just punishment: the feather is broken and worthless.’

  ‘If we hadn’t been in such a hurry we could have sold it ourselves,’ moaned Caelestis, hardly listening to what Wuraq had to say. ‘Right now we could have had a ship of our own and be sailing to our rendezvous. Instead of which we’re stuck out here on the beach with nowhere to sleep.’

  Wuraq wrung his hands. ‘Well, that was what my grandmother—I mean, I came out to invite you, if you want, to spend the night at our cottage.’

  ‘Hah!’ Caelestis stared at him in cold fury. ‘How much will it cost us? Both our noses and Altor’s magic sword?’

  ‘No, no, my friend. I wish to make honest redress for my misdeeds. Please, came in and have supper with us, at least.’

  Caelestis was annoyed, but he was also ravenously hungry. After some sulking, he at last allowed himself to be led into the cottage. There the old lady, who gave her name as Menira, handed out little cups of hot dark coffee. The smells of fish stew and baked bread rose from the stove.

  The cottage had few furnishings, but Wuraq found them a couple of rugs to sit on. ‘As you see, I am a poor man,’ he said.

  ‘No poorer than we,’ muttered Caelestis under his breath.

  Not wishing to offend Menira with a show of bad manners, Altor nodded to a rug which hung across the back of the room, partitioning off the rear of the cottage. ‘A fine tapestry, madam,’ he said. ‘Your own work?’

  The tapestry showed a horse bounding across clouds and sea. Menira smiled and shook her head. ‘My daughter made that, God rest her soul, basing it on stories of Ridaq’s flying horse.’

  ‘A flying horse?’ said Caelestis, remembering the sailor’s tale he’d heard at Alexius’ the night before.

  ‘Indeed!’ Wuraq leapt to his feet and drew back the rug, and there in the room beyond was a life-size effigy of a horse made of ebony and ivory.

  ‘A very fine work of art,’ said Altor approvingly.

  ‘More than that.’ Caelestis got slowly to his feet. For a long time he stared at the horse open-
mouthed, then he approached and ran his hands over the smooth neck, the intricately carved locks of the mane. Yes, sure enough—there was a slot at the base of the neck.

  Caelestis rummaged in his pocket and brought out the peg. It fitted perfectly.

  Wuraq only stood by looking puzzled, but Menira flung up her hands with amazement. ‘Patience is more bitter than coffee,’ she said, ‘but bears a fruit sweeter than figs. I have waited my whole life for someone to come with the peg that operates the magic horse.’

  ‘That’s surprising,’ said Caelestis. ‘The sailor told me—‘

  ‘What sailor?’ said Altor. ‘Where did you get that peg?’

  Caelestis resented his friend’s tone. ‘It was fairly and squarely paid for.’ To Menira he said: ‘How long have you had this horse?’

  ‘It was carved by my own grandfather, whose name was Ridaq. When the Sultan held a contest among the craftsmen of the city, my grandfather was inspired to produce this marvel: a flying horse, carved of ebony and inlaid with ivory panels. At first the Sultan did not believe the astounding story my grandfather told, for who would credit a living horse that could fly, much less a wooden one? He thought my grandfather was being insolent, and had him thrown into prison. But later the Sultan’s son experimented with the horse and undertook a thrilling journey to a land beyond Khitai. There he rescued a princess who had been imprisoned by her evil uncle, and he brought her back to Crescentium to wed her. My grandfather was set free and given a robe of honour, and the horse was returned to him.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ said Caelestis, shaking his head at the wonder of it all. ‘Still, how did the peg come to be lost?’

  ‘The Sultan’s son wore it as a keepsake on a thong around his neck, so I am told. It must have remained in the royal family and been lost when they fled Crescentium.’