Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (25 page)

Stepping to the left and keeping one eye on the silent group of figures in the centre, Pardigan began making his way around the perimeter, exploring the outer wall that felt damp and clammy beneath his outstretched hand.

There were several doors, most of which were locked, the ones that he could enter appeared to be dressing rooms with robes and cloaks set on hooks beside benches while a few others were storage rooms piled with crates and boxes filled with nothing but musty straw.

It was when he judged himself about a third of the way around the hall that he came to a wide passage stretching back into the temple complex. After a glance back into the hall, he set off to see where the passage led.

Heavy red candles were set every few paces, their strange oily light dancing languidly upon the polished surface of the walls. Several doors opened into sleeping chambers and storage rooms, but a quick, cursory search revealed they held little and certainly not the crystal skulls. He made his way further along towards the end of the passage, which remained lost in darkness. Some way in he stopped and drew a deep breath, glancing about uncertainly. Fear was tugging at his resolve, and he debated returning to the hall and leaving the temple altogether - something was very unsettling about the place. It wasn't helping that covering the walls were a mosaic of glazed red tiles that made it appear as if the passage was running with blood, glistening in the flickering candlelight, it was disconcerting, and he could feel fear tugging at him, rising towards panic.

He reached out a hand to touch the wall's surface but drew back before his fingers touched as a distant agonised scream rent the air. His breath loud, heart pounding in his ears, Pardigan stretched his senses, wavering as he tried to hear more, but the scream had died leaving only the stillness of the chill passage to play with his mind. The scream had come from further along, not from behind him in the main hall where his friends were. Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to move on. Within a few steps, he was stopped once again, this time by the sounds of raised voices and then the sounds of sobbing. Another scream filled the air, quickly followed by another, the terrible agony of the sound echoing down the passage from some way off. Stilling his trembling body, Pardigan tried to concentrate on moving further whilst remaining invisible, all the while fearing what he might find.

He tried several more doors leading off, peering quickly into storage rooms full of crates and bolts of dark cloth, a refectory and then a door already half open revealed a small library with three robed priests studying parchments by the light of the inevitable deep red candles, this was where the voices had come from. He was two steps into the room, ready to make a quick search, when the closest Chaos priest glanced around. Pardigan froze to the spot. The man's dark eyes bored into his, and he had to check mentally that his invisibility spell was still holding, he was sure it was. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck as the man's face screwed up in concentration.

'Brother?' The priest's voice was deep and dry as he turned fully to face Pardigan, folding back the hood of his cloak to reveal a shaven scalp and dead, sunken eyes. Pardigan held his breath and convinced himself not to move… yet!

'Brother, I sense… I sense something has entered the room. Can it be a spirit?' The man stood, his eyes moving slightly to the side. Pardigan realised that the man may well be sensing him, but couldn't see him. Holding his breath, he slowly edged back towards the door, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

'I sense nothing, Jazeen. You imagine too much,' muttered one of the other priests, his hood still covering his head. He appeared to be too engrossed in his studies to take his friend's worries seriously enough even to look up. 'Perhaps you need to sleep… or pay some penitence to the Great Spirit?'

'I have paid my dues today,' replied the first priest sullenly. He turned away, resuming his seat and the study of parchments. 'My studies have indeed been long, and it may be that I crave sleep. My mind plays tricks with me.' With a wash of relief, Pardigan withdrew from the room, deciding that the chances of the skulls being in the small library were slim and certainly not worth the risk of a real search.

I thought he could see me, too close… way too close. I shall have to be careful around the priests if they can sense me.

Regaining some small control over his fear, he crept on passing yet more doors. The few he checked appeared to be sleeping quarters, several of which housed snoring priests. The passage came to an abrupt dark end. Set in the furthest darkest corner was a narrow door that had been left slightly ajar. Pardigan pushed gently, and it swung inwards revealing a stone staircase descending into the lower levels of the temple. Placing one foot carefully upon the top step he made to descend, but was halted by a warm gust of foul air that suddenly wafted upwards followed by yet another terrible scream that all but drove the remaining courage from him. He was physically shaking, his resolve wavering as his foot hovered over the second step. The sensation of wanting just to drop the invisibility spell, turn and run as fast as he could for the exit was almost… almost overwhelming. Quint and Mahra would certainly tell him to return - whatever was at the bottom of these steps sounded like it belonged in some dark nightmare and was almost certainly not a treasure room, but that scream had been full of pain and anguish. Walking away without seeing if he could do anything simply wasn't something he could live with. This moment of indecision would live with him for all his days.

Pulling his cloak up to cover his nose and mouth, he cautiously descended the staircase.

* * *

'
Loras!
'

Loras spun around at the warning in time to see a huge grey-haired warrior, hurl himself over the wall of stones they were using as a shelter. He tried to lift his hands to conjure a cushion of air, but cold and fatigue had taken its toll, slowing him too much. The spell was sufficient to turn the warrior's blade aside, which struck the ground beside him casting rock fragments as the warrior ploughed into him, driving the air from his body with a painful,
'Oof!'
cracking his head against the stone.

A few moments later, consciousness claimed him once more, and he convulsed as he tried to suck air into his lungs. The weight on top of him was still on top of him and was moving, but it didn't feel like the warrior was trying to stand up, rather that someone was trying to pull the dead weight of his body away. Closing his eyes he checked himself for a wound … he ached all over, but there was no single point of pain beyond the bump on his head.

'Loras! Loras are you alright?'

Snapping open his eyes, he gazed up and saw Tarent staring down at him, concern creasing his friend's face. Then he noticed Tarent's sword dripping fresh blood.

'You got him!'

'Yes, Loras, I got him. But there are plenty more, so if you're recovered enough, please get up and help.' Tarent turned, picked up his bow, glanced over the rock and quickly fired two arrows.

Loras heaved himself onto his feet and glanced about. One of Bartholomew's guards was pulling the dead warrior out of the way, and Magician Falk was sending bolts of blue lightning stabbing over the rocks.

'Not dead after ell eh!' said the Magician, glancing across at Loras. 'We appear to have forced them back a little now, but there are just too many. There has to be fifty warriors still out there.' A flurry of arrows drifted over the top towards them, only to be casually deflected by the elderly Magician with a wave of his hand. He turned to Loras. 'We could do with your help here my friend.'

Still feeling the effects of his clash with the warrior, Loras studied the bleak terrain in front of them, and the area they were holed up in.

They were backed against the cliff, which was one good thing in their favour; they couldn't be attacked from behind. A short distance in front of their rocky shelter was the road, and beyond this the hill dipped away over rocky terrain where Morgasta's warriors were now entrenched.

When the two groups spotted each other just a short time ago, the Barbarians had immediately attacked, driving their horses on through the snow and mud, yelling battle cries as they swung their swords about their heads. Tarent had immediately seen they were outnumbered and ordered the wagon and horses off the road towards the outcropping of rocks close to the cliff. They barely had time to set up their defences before the warriors had thrown themselves into the attack, hooting and screaming with unrestrained excitement.

To find what appeared to be a relatively unguarded wagon out here close to the Massif, was surely a gift from the Chaos god himself, or so they had thought. The first of them found out the hard way how wrong they had been.

Setting a wall of air to their left so as not to be taken by surprise, Loras turned his attention to the rocky patch opposite where he could see several warriors peeking across at them from the cover of their own rock shield. As he watched, a warrior stood, aimed and fired an arrow directly at him, but he ignored him, trusting for the moment that Magician Falk would deflect the arrow away. His face set into a frown of concentration and the falling snow immediately began to thicken and the gusting wind became even stronger, howling about the rocks sending flurries of snow sweeping around the whole area. Everyone crouched down for protection while Loras remained standing alone with his cloak flapping about him, head bared to the gale as he directed the force of the storm towards the crouching warriors opposite.

The air about Loras and the company became still, whereas, a short distance away across the rocks, snow was being driven by a punishing gale, covering the sheltering warriors and freezing them in an icy cocoon. Those further away shouted for their comrades to retreat, but it was for nothing; within the blizzard, the only sound was the howl of the wind.

At last the tension relaxed, and the wind began to drop. Loras slumped down, just as both sides were rising from their positions, unsure of what they had witnessed. The weather had at least returned to what passed for normality this side of the Bolt, but what confronted the shocked observers wasn't at all normal. The rocks, where more than half the force of fierce battle hardened warriors had made their stand, was now inhabited by an army of frozen statues, caught in the screams of their final moments, in attitudes of terror and surrender. It was not a lesson that the remaining Barbarians learned anything from. Arrows and insults started to fly once more and Magician Falk went back to deflecting them.

'We're still stuck here,' muttered Tarent as he handed a flask of water to Loras. The young Magician took it gratefully then fumbled with the top to get it open. The water was warm from where Tarent had kept it tucked next to his skin to keep it from freezing. Loras drank then handed it back.

'That was exhausting. Anything to do with the weather always seems to take all my energy, but don't worry, I'll think of something else soon.'

* * *

Pardigan descended the staircase feeling as if time had slowed and he were caught in a dream. There must be some magical force at work because the air felt thick, almost solid, the further he came down the steps. Part of his mind, probably the more sensible part he reflected, was still screaming at him to turn and leave, while his more stubborn nature tentatively reached a foot down to grope for the next step, urging him to go just a little further. The rising atmosphere was hot and fetid, carrying with it the stinking breath of rotting corruption that was wafting up from some deep, inner place at the heart of the temple. Pardigan was suddenly struck with the possibility that there may be some huge demonic presence lurking below, and the stink of its exhaled breath was what rose up the stairs washing back over him - he shuddered at the thought. The steps were treacherously slick, the walls running with greasy condensation; this really wasn't somewhere Pardigan wanted to be and to make matters worse, he now really needed to pee.

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!'