Mage Prime (Book 2) (21 page)

Jack’s mouth twisted in a smile. “That’s why I’m the Spymaster, Your Majesty. Anyway, for various reasons, it took me a while to get off the ship. As I was walking down the gang-plank, I noticed this strange cove hanging about. He seemed to be taking more than a passing interest in the ship and asking a lot of questions. And, I may be wrong, but by his accent and the set of his jib I’d say he was Naborian.”

Vailin shot up out of his chair. He strode over to Master Gibb, spoke quietly in his ear then turned back to the spymaster. “Get on to him Jack. Find out what you can, by whatever means. Anything else you’re involved in can wait. Take some guards. Search the ship and the dock area then report back to me, with or without him. If it’s with him, go straight to Lady Evalin and fill me in with the details later. You can use this freely.”

Master Gibb handed Vailin a small sheet of paper which the young king hurriedly signed before thrusting it into the spymaster’s hand. “I’m relying on you Master Parry. What you achieve this day may well prove vital.”

Jack gave the Royal warrant a quick glance. With a tight smile, he tucked it into his jacket pocket, sketched a quick bow and left the office, but not before noticing that Vailin was once more frowning over the strange words on the goatskin parchment.

The young king crossed the room to where his secretary was sorting through the day’s packets and busily penning notes. “What do you think of this Master Gibb? If my memory serves me correctly, you have a penchant for puzzles.”

The secretary carefully laid aside the papers he was holding and took the proffered piece of goatskin. “I’ll certainly give it my best effort, sire.”

Pale, late winter sunlight now flooded the room, dispelling the last cheerless shadows of dawn. Master Gibb leaned back in his chair and began to study the hastily scrawled prophecy.

After a moment or so he smiled and looked up at Vailin. “This first line, sire, would appear to indicate the astral conjunction to which Master Symon referred.”

Vailin slapped a hand on the desk. “Of course! How could we forget that? The reason for the situation we’re in at the moment. What about the next part?”

Master Gibb screwed up his face in concentration. “Well, there seem to be an awful lot of ‘losts’ in one sentence, but there’s nothing to tell us who or what they are. As for ‘the golden one’ I really couldn’t say without giving it a lot more thought and perhaps doing some research at the University. Would you like me to do that, sire?”

Vailin thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes Master Gibb, but try not to spend too long over it. Make a copy then put the original in a safe place. I want to give that to Master Symon and Karryl, when they eventually return.”

The secretary reached for pen and paper. “When might that be sire?”

Vailin looked slightly worried. “I really don’t know. They usually let me know somehow or other when they’re going off somewhere. All Lady Evalin would tell me was that their journey was of the utmost importance, and not to be unduly concerned. I know they’ve been gone for longer than this before, but then I’ve always known where they’ve gone and for how long.

“It’s the not knowing that’s the worst part. I think Agmar knows something too, but he’s not saying. So, we carry on and hope they return soon, hopefully with some resolution to the situation. Now, when is the Prime Minister due to arrive?”

Master Gibb glanced at the tall hour-glass which stood in a corner of the office and considered the sand as it trickled slowly down. “A little less than an hour, sire. Shall I send for some refreshment?”

Vailin gave a wicked grin. “Yes please. But do it now. Then we can get it out of the way before he gets here.”

The secretary’s face remained expressionless. “I gather then sire, that Prime Minister Duckitt is to remain un-refreshed?”

“Indeed, Master Gibb. I intend to make the man decidedly uncomfortable. Also, I will see him in here, and I want you to take notes. I feel that a written record of our discussion will prove useful later.”

As his secretary tugged on the bell-pull for tea and scones, Vailin picked up one of the opened packets, sat down and started to read.

* * *

The Prime Minister was late. Vailin denied him the courtesy of standing up when Jobling ushered him into the office. He simply looked pointedly at the hour-glass. “I trust you have already been busy this morning, Prime Minister?”

With an obsequious smile and some wringing of his pudgy hands, Duckitt took a couple of eager steps forward. “Indeed I have, Your Majesty. I have ensured that all your ministers will be present at tomorrow morning’s meeting, and that they have received all the pertinent information.”

Vailin’s expression was bland. “Which is as it should be, Prime Minister. Now, take a seat please. I have more information to impart.”

A scratching sound from Master Gibb’s quill pen caused the slightly flushed Duckitt to look nervously over his shoulder. “Notes are being taken, Your Majesty?”

“Indeed they are. This discussion could be of national importance. I want no detail left unrecorded.”

Misconstruing completely, the Prime Minister tucked in both his chins, puffed out his well-fleshed chest and seated himself in the chair recently vacated by the spy-master. Wide eyed, he grasped the arms of the chair, eagerly awaiting whatever nuggets of vital information his king wished to impart.

Vailin leaned back and clasped his hands together. “Prime Minister; I will come straight to the point. Quite frankly, I don’t care much for that motley crowd of toad-eaters who pass themselves off as Ministers. If I had my way I’d dismiss the lot of them. However, I have my loyal subjects to consider. Would you therefore inform your ill-sorted crew that if tomorrow’s meeting shows any sign of echoing the last one then I will be as good as my word. It’s about time they started doing the job that they are presently being paid far too much to do. To a man, they are all kin to some of my father’s dearest friends, which is hardly a guarantee of their efficacy as ministers. Wouldn’t you agree? In all honesty, I have only persevered with them out of respect for my father’s memory.”

The Prime Minister blanched. “Your Majesty! I must protest!”

Vailin held up a warning hand. “No, you must not! I have seen little evidence lately of any changes or improvements which could be attributed to the work of my ministers. As for tomorrow’s meeting, it will be little more than a formality. I have made a decision based on some excellent intelligence and advice, and I will expect you all to abide by my decision, however badly it may sit. I think you will find it is the right one, when all is said and done. Now, in light of the things I have just said, no doubt you will feel reluctant to tell me anything of any consequence. However, on a basis of mutual respect, anything useful and pertinent you can tell me will be considered most carefully.”

The Prime Minister swallowed hard. Attempting a winning smile, he succeeded only in achieving a grimace which made him look as if he was suffering from wind. He looked over at Vailin’s secretary, but Master Gibb was concentrating on the writing of notes and did not look up.

Failing to obtain any moral support from that quarter, Duckitt turned an earnest gaze on his king. “I think you should know, Your Majesty, that despite the Lady Evalin’s efforts and the unanimous vote of the last meeting, at least half the ministers are still strongly in favour of raising an army and engaging in conventional warfare with the Naborians. I fear they will not be swayed. I have heard some of their arguments, and I must admit they are quite convincing.”

Vailin’s smile was devoid of warmth. “So, where do your sympathies lie, Prime Minister? Perhaps you will take a neutral position?”

Duckitt winced visibly as Vailin caught him wrong-footed. Managing to look suitably pained, the Prime Minister gave a little wring of his hands. “Your Majesty! I can in all honesty say…” Vailin stifled a snort. “…that I will whole-heartedly support the Crown, as is my sworn duty.”

His Majesty King Vailin II promptly stood up and glared down at his Prime Minister. “Then, Prime Minister Duckitt, I suggest you remind my ministers that it is also their sworn duty to support the Crown. The decision I have made is based on information and advice which I have received indirectly from an authority far higher than my own. As such, it is extremely, and I do mean extremely, unlikely to be swayed. Thank you, Prime Minister. I trust that tomorrow I shall be able to say what a sensible and capable person I have in charge of my Government.”

Duckitt rose hurriedly to his feet. Placing an arm across his ample stomach he made an almost perfect bow. “Assuredly, Your Majesty. By your leave, I will now go and prepare myself and your loyal ministers for tomorrow’s meeting.”

Vailin nodded his assent. Master Gibb slid from behind his desk and was already holding the door open by the time Duckitt reached it.

As he closed the door the secretary gave a little smile of satisfaction. “I think that went rather well, sire.”

Vailin’s smile mirrored that of Gibb. “Indeed it did, Master Gibb, indeed it did.”

After what seemed to be hours of walking, Karryl broke into a trot until he had caught up with Dhoum, and tapped him on the back. The russet-haired Grrybhñnös stopped and swivelled his head round, a feat peculiar only to his race and owls.

Karryl found it slightly disconcerting. “Is there much further to go? I haven’t eaten or slept since what may well be yesterday, and I’m beginning to feel a bit drained.”

Dhoum manoeuvred himself round in the narrow tunnel so that his head and body were facing in the same direction. “Don’t you know a spell of sustenance?”

Karryl threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I do! But if we’re nearly there, I’d rather have something to eat. There is something decidedly satisfying in having a full stomach.”

Dhoum gave a non-committal sort of a grunt and began to fumble about under the folds of his robe. He gave another grunt as he appeared to find what he was looking for, and held out one four-fingered hand.

Lying in the pale-skinned palm was a round white object, about the size of a large coat button. “You’ll have to make do with this.”

Karryl took it rather apprehensively and held it close to the light of the torch. “What is it?”

Dhoum gave a long-suffering sigh. “That, Master Karryl, is a very special biscuit, made to a secret recipe by a small group of our females.”

Karryl stared at it. “One biscuit? How far will I go on one biscuit?”

Dhoum began turning round again as he replied. “Try it. Eat it. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Tentatively, Karryl bit off a small piece. It dissolved almost instantly in his mouth and he had no choice but to swallow. He found the flavour somewhat reminiscent of honey, and quickly popped the rest of it into his mouth.

Dhoum watched with interest. “Well, what do you think?”

Karryl grinned. “That’s quite some biscuit. I feel as if I’ve had a three course meal. Thank you.”

He patted his illusory full stomach, and peered along the tunnel. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Dhoum gave one of his rumbling chuckles. Launching into his characteristic rolling gait he set off, torch aloft, into the darkness. Progress was rapid, although Karryl frequently found himself breaking into a trot in his efforts to keep up with his surprisingly agile companion. It was during one of these keeping pace intervals that Karryl began to realise that the floor of the tunnel, which until now had been level, was not only beginning to slope gradually downwards, but also to curve to the right. His spirits rose as the going became easier. A sudden and brief whiff of salty air made him suspect they were close to their destination. His feeling of relief was short-lived.

A curve in the tunnel swallowed Dhoum and the light, and Karryl felt suddenly and inexplicably alone and dejected. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he stood unmoving in the middle of the tunnel, and forced his eyes to peer into the darkness, a task he was beginning to find increasingly difficult. Shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the lethargy which threatened to engulf him, he found it was of no avail. Eyelids drooping beyond the point of rescue, he succumbed to an overwhelming desire to sleep. Stumbling unsteadily sideways until he met the wall, he slid down and collapsed in an untidy heap on the tunnel’s cold floor.

Slowly and heavily he swam towards a bright blue light which, despite all his efforts to focus, remained tantalisingly distant. A voice was calling his name, and his mind struggled to locate the source. The light was nearer now. He could smell the tang of sea air mingled with the rich smell of ferns and damp soil. He felt a jolt against his shoulder. As he rolled onto his back, something tickled his forehead.

He opened his eyes to find Dhoum’s hairy face peering closely into his own. “Mmm. It worked then.”

Knuckling his eyes, Karryl struggled to sit up. “What worked?”

Dhoum crouched down beside him. “Forgot to tell you about it. Ward placed a pace or two from here. Stops anyone going where we’re going. Makes you go back in the other direction when you wake up.”

The young magician grimaced. “You’re immune to it, I suppose?”

“‘Course. Couldn’t get you there otherwise. Right. Up you get. Should be feeling better now. Soon be at the end of this stage. Come on.”

Dhoum stood up and waited while Karryl pushed himself to his feet, then barrelled off down the tunnel again, leaving Karryl to follow in his wake. The pair followed a long straight of about a mile before rounding another bend to the right. Dhoum switched off the torch. The absolute darkness of the tunnel’s interior had given way to the gloom which sits at the back of daylight.

With a grin Karryl took in deep breaths of the salty air which swirled around them. “We’ve almost arrived then?”

Dhoum’s body rippled under his robe. “Not quite. Better take off your boots unless you want them ruined in salt water.”

Quite amenable to practical advice, Karryl removed his boots and placed them carefully against the wall of the tunnel.

Dhoum wagged a scaly hand. “Pick ‘em up. Take ‘em with you. Not coming back this way.”

Karryl picked up his boots and managed to look helpless as he held them in the air. “Where am I supposed to put them?”

Dhoum clapped his hands to the sides of his muzzle. “Gods! You’re a magician aren’t you? Make something!”

Looking suitably abashed, Karryl reached into the air and seconds later produced what appeared to be a very long shoe-lace. Threading it through the ornamental buckles on the sides of his boots, he then slung them round his neck.

Dhoum grunted. “Good. Not so difficult, was it?”

* * *

They emerged from the tunnel onto a long, gently curving beach of smooth silvery sand. A pale winter sun hung half-way down a hazy sky, giving the preternaturally calm water below it a soft, metallic sheen. Sitting down on the sand, Karryl stretched out his legs. Dhoum ambled down to the tide’s edge, studied the water closely then looked long and hard in both directions. He then turned to his left and began to scrutinise the shore-line, taking one small step at a time. Eventually he stopped and peered into the gentle ripples which wetted the sand just beyond his feet. Apparently satisfied with what he found he took a long pace backwards. Crouching down, he fashioned two little pillars of sand, before ambling back up the beach and settling himself beside Karryl. The two sat for a while in companionable silence, gazing out at the ocean as the barely perceptible tide crept nearer to Dhoum’s sand pillars.

Karryl waved an arm to encompass the whole vista. “Where are we? Is this still Thermera?”

Dhoum blinked slowly. “It is. You’ve walked from one side of the island to the other. Impossible over land unless you have a sphere. No-one’s been here in centuries.”

Puzzled, Karryl frowned. “How do you know about it then?”

Dhoum stood and brushed sand off his robe. “Tell you sometime. Not now. It’s time to go.”

The little pillars of sand had just received their first wetting. As he drew closer, Karryl could see that they were about one pace apart.

Taking hold of the young magician’s arms, Dhoum positioned him carefully between them. “When those wash away, start walking straight ahead into the water. Quite safe. Nothing to fear.”

Karryl looked dubiously at the water for a moment then turned to speak to Dhoum. To his consternation, the Grrybhñnös was already halfway back up the beach, heading for the tunnel entrance.

He stopped and turned as Karryl called out to him. “Where are you going? Aren’t you coming with me?”

Dhoum shook his head. “You’re on your own for the next part. I was only to be your guide as far as here. I’ll be around when you get back. Look! The sand piles are gone. Walk into the water!”

Taking a tentative step forward, Karryl gave a little shudder as the cold water made contact with his feet. Little swirls and eddies danced round his ankles. He took another longer step, while all around him the ocean remained unmarred by any ripple or undulation. He continued to walk forward, fully expecting the water to be reaching his waist before too long. Only when he was about a hundred paces out from the shore did he realise that not only was the water still barely above his ankles, he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet. The shock of realisation momentarily upset his balance. As he wind-milled his arms to recover, his memory flashed briefly to the events at the stream, events which had triggered such major changes in his life.

He turned to look back at the shore. It wasn’t there. All he could focus on was a shimmering lucent whiteness which moved swiftly and inexorably towards him. He stood and watched, resigning himself to the inevitable, as it drew closer. An involuntary shiver coursed over his skin as pearlescent tendrils wafted out and gently explored his face. Sight of the ocean was obscured as the nebulous entity enveloped him.