Mage Prime (Book 2) (26 page)

Karryl stood in the doorway, immediately recognising what he was seeing, although he had never seen it from quite such an unusual angle. He was high over the streets of Vellethen, getting a bird’s eye view, but it was a different Vellethen to the one he had known all his life. His eyes began to sting as he thought of Symon and how much the little magician would have enthused if he could have seen this view of ancient Vellethen as it must have stood a thousand years ago. Rather incongruously the thought occurred to Karryl that it hadn’t changed much, although there were a number of subtle but definable differences.

“Well, aren’t you going to take a closer look?”

“I don’t fancy becoming a mangled heap on a street that isn’t there any more.”

The entity seemed to find Karryl’s observation very amusing. His deep chuckle set up gentle vibrations in the surrounding air. “Just step through. You won’t fall. It’ll be just like levitation without having to go to all the trouble of casting a spell.”

“Couldn’t you have just put the door somewhere more… more… you know… solid.”

During the silence which followed Karryl got the impression that the entity was thinking. The answer came just as he was about to step out into what was, to all intents and purposes, thin air.

“We just thought you’d like to see it in all its splendour that’s all, but if you prefer to walk…”

The scene shimmered briefly and Karryl found himself looking out onto a wide, cobbled street. “Where are all the people?”

“You can have milling, jostling hordes with their animals and attendant odours if you wish, but you’ll get around a lot faster without them.”

Karryl was inclined to agree and stepped outside, keenly aware of a certain wrongness about going directly out into the middle of Broad Street from his aunt’s cottage. “Where am I supposed to be going?”

The ensuing silence was almost palpable. The reply which eventually followed gave him the distinct impression that his guiding entity was experiencing a moment of unaccustomed embarrassment.

“Erm… we don’t know. You see, this is the city as it was a few days before the War of Power. Somewhere in there Keril hid an artefact but he omitted to say exactly what or where.”

Karryl threw up his hands in disbelief. “You’ve got this all back to front! If I’d been given the chance to use the medallion with the book, I would have known before I got here and I could have gone straight to it!”

“Afraid not. Keril only describes how to get into the old city, and explains how to remove his wardings and concealments. He doesn’t give the location of the artefact itself.”

Karryl frowned. “I would have thought he would have told you. After all, you are his father.”

The other was silent for a moment. “Yes, but he didn’t know that. Even if he had, he’d probably have thought the fewer people who knew the better.”

Karryl grinned. “Why? Were you famous?”

He detected a note of dry humour in the other’s reply. “You could say that. Some of our… er… achievements did rather tend to stretch the bounds of credulity, but this is neither the time nor the place. Please concentrate on the matter in hand.”

Feeling somewhat rebuffed, Karryl sat down on the doorstep and looked up and down the deserted street. He had already thought of other ways this could have been done, and couldn’t understand why they hadn’t.

The answer came before he even had chance to voice the question. “We are merely guardians. Searching the city for one artefact would be very time-consuming. It would also prevent us from doing other things which may prove vital.”

Deciding that arguing was pointless, considering whom or what he would be arguing with, Karryl resigned himself to the inevitable. He sat quietly, thinking about the most likely place to start looking.

Something occurred to him. “Where am I supposed to take this artefact when I’ve found it?”

His answer was silence. Karryl stood up and started walking in the opposite direction to where he reckoned the palace would be in a few hundred years. Suddenly he stopped. Another train of thought had started up in his agile mind. Closing his eyes he let it run. “Of course! It would have to be the safest place in the city!”

He turned around and gazed along the cobbled street into the distance, until his view was blocked by buildings obscuring the long and sweeping curve to the right. He set off, his long legs carrying him in a ground eating lope. As he swung around the curve he could see the long incline, not as steep as in the Vellethen that he knew, but there nevertheless. Stopping to catch his breath, he shielded his eyes with his hand and looked up the hill.

He threw out a thought. “At least you’ve got the sun in the right place this time.”

The reply was verging on the caustic. “So glad you approve.”

Seizing the opportunity, Karryl pitched his question again. “While you’re here, perhaps you’d tell me what I’m supposed to do with it when I’ve found it.”

He waited, but again there was no reply. Karryl dismissed the matter with a shrug and began walking up the long hill. He smiled at the archaic style of the buildings, and the open spaces which he knew were now occupied by fine houses. Some of the buildings looked familiar, and he wondered how much of this had actually been destroyed, although common sense told him it would have to be a remarkable building to last a thousand years. The road began to narrow before giving way to a sandy, unsurfaced track bordered by dense clumps of gorse and buckthorn. Standing alone, and well back from the road, the last building on the hill was a large, solidly stone-built three-storey town-house. Giving it no more than a passing glance, Karryl hurried along the last section of road, plodded up the lumpy track to the top of the hill, and looked about him.

* * *

All around were green fields dotted with small groups of mature trees. In the far distance he could see the country’s highest mountain, Tor Fraucen, now only visible from King Vailin’s private apartments. Reckoning that he was at a point corresponding to the middle of the old parade ground, Karryl turned slowly round on the spot using the mountain as a reference point. Facing the mountain again and looking to his left, he studied the group of five well spaced young trees standing strong and proud amongst an untidy thicket of low-growing shrubs and creepers. He crossed the soft, slightly yielding turf, and stood looking up into the branches of the nearest tree.

His voice thick with emotion he patted the grey, thick barked trunk. “I’m glad you survived. Symon’s tower wouldn’t be the same without you.”

From nowhere, a gentle breeze came and stirred the young oak’s dark foliage, sending a small twig bearing three leaves tumbling to land at Karryl’s feet. He bent to pick it up, placing it carefully in his pocket before giving the tree one more pat and walking away. His eyes fixed on a point about half a mile away, he set off across the grass. About a third of the way to his destination, he looked across into the middle distance on his right. Trying to visualise the sprawl of barrack blocks which now stood there, he felt thankful he could cut across without the long walk past the barracks and through the palace precincts.

A five minute brisk walk brought him to a point where the hilltop’s level ground began to give way to a gentle downward slope and he knew he had come too far. Although the view was obscured by a bluish haze, Karryl knew that if it had been clear he would have been able to see the narrow blue-grey band of the distant ocean, and possibly a harbour. Turning, he studied the area of open ground in front of him, moved a few paces to his right and began to walk slowly forward. For over an hour he methodically paced and quartered the ground until finally his perseverance was rewarded. He dropped to his knees and sat back on his heels, gazing at his find. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel smug.

To the casual observer there was little to see that would cause comment, merely a patch of slightly browned, moss infested grass about one and a half paces square. Shuffling on his knees, Karryl moved closer and held out his right hand over the discoloured patch. He kept his hand in position for a long moment, gauging the strength of the warding which pricked sharply at his fingers and crept like an army of ants along his arm. He drew back his hand, pushed himself to his feet and took a pace backwards. Arms folded, he gazed at the ground and quickly considered the options which had presented themselves.

Reaching what he hoped was the right decision, he looked skywards. “I would appreciate a little help here.”

“He’s rather busy right now. Will I do?”

The voice was soft and melodious, bringing with it the heady scent of honeysuckle and primroses.

Sniffing appreciatively, Karryl grinned. “Detelia? Is that you?”

“Can you think of anyone else it could be?”

Karryl shook his head. “No. It’s just such a nice surprise, that’s all.”

“Why! Thank you! Now, what is it you need?”

“Nothing world-shattering. At least, I don’t think it is, but I think you or somebody there will have the power to do something I can’t.”

“Which is? Don’t talk in riddles Karryl.”

“Oh! Sorry. I thought you knew what I was thinking.”

“I do. But as you’re thinking four things at once, perhaps you could elaborate.’

Detelia’s remark came as something of a surprise, as he wasn’t aware he was doing such a thing. Clearing his mind, he focussed and let the idea take shape. Her answer, a long moment later, was the one he had been hoping for.

“Yes, it is down there, though how he got down that far I really don’t know. As for the wardings, you will definitely need the book.”

“Mmm. That’s what I thought. Anyway, I presume I’ve done what I was supposed to do, and it’s given me something else to think about. If I have to think about much more my brain is going to be wanting growing room.”

Another waft of Detelia’s signature perfume teased Karryl’s nostrils. “You’d be very surprised at what that brain of yours is capable of Karryl. It is very much under-used, which seems such a waste. And I do so hate waste!”

Karryl made a wry face. He had a strong feeling that his brain was going to be making up for that in the very near future.

A cleft in the ground at the bottom of the rise enabled him to just make out the topmost branches of the young oak in the very far distance. Making a mental note, he set out on the long walk back to the city, his grumbling stomach telling him it was well past lunchtime. It was with a sigh of relief that he arrived at the door from which he had left, only to find it was locked. Feeling slightly peeved he raced through the ‘door open’ spell. Once in the room he flopped down into Harrel’s fireside chair. He sat there for a while, lost in thought, then moved across to the table and set himself a plate of food.

His appetite assuaged, he wandered into the kitchen, poured water out of a jug into a bowl and washed, hoping the cold water would help stave off the tiredness he was feeling. He didn’t want to sleep just yet, even though he could see that it was already beginning to get dark outside. Not being over-fond of the oppressive gloom of twilight, he trimmed and lit the lamps. It was while he was doing this that it occurred to him he was doing something which should have been impossible. He crossed the kitchen, turned and carefully studied the open door. Nothing about it indicated it had ever been anything other than the same old door it was now. He gave a shrug. Along with some fresh water in a beaker, he took a lamp into the main room and sat down again by the comforting fireside.

He woke with a start as the cold water spilled out of the tilted beaker and soaked the knee of his trousers. To add to his discomfort there was no longer any fire in the grate. The only food left was a small piece of bread which had already gone stale, and a portion of cheese gone dry at the edges. Thankful that at least the lamps were lit, Karryl stretched, yawned and headed for the kitchen, only to be brought up short. The old familiar, white painted door which had been there earlier that evening was gone. In its place stood a door of a heavy, dark wood furnished with a polished brass doorknob. In a rare moment of indecision Karryl turned and looked back into the room. It was as if the first door he had passed through had never been there. He hurried across to the window and ran his fingers over the sturdy frame as he peered through the shining glass into the darkness beyond. Disinclined to believe that it really was the small garden and its sheltering hedge he could just make out, he turned away. The door where the dresser used to be was still there.

He voiced his thoughts, more to break the silence than from any desire to communicate. “So, now I have a choice of two. Huh! Usually, when that happens, I invariably pick the wrong one.”

“There is no wrong one. There are only alternatives.”

“Aah. In that case, perhaps I should flip a coin or do dippy dip.”

The interest in the other’s tone was laced with irony. “Is that the way you usually make major decisions?”

The remark took Karryl by surprise and he found himself floundering. “Well, no. I just thought…”

“Then perhaps you could continue to do so and dispense with the flippancy.”

Karryl made a wry face. “You know, you sound just like Symon.”

There was a long pause followed by a deep chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Karryl threw back his head and laughed out loud. The tension which had begun to build in his body sloughed away like a discarded skin. Sitting on the window seat, he folded his arms and studied each door in turn, as if some previously untapped inner sense might tell him which one to open first. Eventually he arrived at a decision based purely on the fact that the kitchen door was marginally nearer. With a sigh of resignation he stood up, crossed the room and stood for a while in front of his chosen door. Apprehensively he grasped the brass doorknob, intending to try the lock. Unlike the first, this door yielded easily. It sprang wide, admitting a cold grey light and a swirling blast of icy wind which sheared uncomfortably across his ankles.

Hardly able to give credence to the sight which met his eyes, Karryl stepped forward onto the door sill. Hands firmly gripping the doorposts on either side, he stood and stared. Once again he had a bird’s eye view, but this time he felt no desire to be any closer. Fingernails digging into timber he gazed down on a sight which made his eyes sting with unshed tears. A massive lump rising in his throat left him gasping for breath. Sickened, he turned back to the room. It was no longer there. Choking back a racking sob he turned again, forcing himself to survey the scene below him.

The door-posts he held on to were set into the remains of what had once been an upper storey wall. Vellethen was barely recognisable. Its proud buildings of warm ochre coloured stone had been reduced to pitiful heaps of dusty, mud toned rubble. With nothing left to check its ferocious onslaught, a salt-laden sea wind screamed across the city, setting demented debris-laden whirlwinds of yellow dust spinning along the once clean and tended streets. Blocks of masonry lay in jumbled heaps where they had fallen. Shards of shattered windows caught remnants of a wintry sky, towards which broken timbers like stiff dead fingers thrust a silent appeal.

Karryl’s sharp ears detected unfamiliar sounds. Interspersed with harsh guttural calls and the staccato clatter of hooves, a low undulating moan sang a skin-crawling descant to the shriek of the relentless wind. As the source of the sounds entered his circle of vision, horror and revulsion overtook him. Led by a leather-armoured guard astride a sleek well-nourished horse, a ragged line of emaciated, wan faced men shuffled and stumbled through the gauntlet of broken glass and shattered stonework. Karryl’s skin crawled as he recognised the cruel, swarthy face of the rider. All too recently he had stood within touching distance of the studded leather plates which covered his body. Praying that the Vedran guard would not think to look up, Karryl fixed his attention on the hundred or so cowed and battered men who followed. Most were scantily covered in drab remnants of tattered clothing, but to his disgust and shame he could see at least a dozen staggering along totally naked. Shackled together in pairs, each pair was then tethered to the one behind by a piece of rusting chain, so short that constantly repeated body contact was unavoidable. As Karryl watched, an older man towards the rear of the line stumbled and fell to the ground, pulling his companion down with him. Those in front and behind swayed and jostled as they struggled to maintain their footing. Debilitated by malnutrition and hampered by the short chains, their efforts were in vain. They too, over-balanced, dropping in a struggling tangle amongst the dust and debris.

Furiously the guard jerked his horse around. Yelling at the top of his voice he cantered back up the confused and ragged line. He uncoiled the heavy braided leather whip from his belt and whirled it through the air, sending it whistling and cracking against the heads and sprawling limbs of his hapless charges. Running swiftly from the rear, three more guards patrolled forward, randomly jabbing their viciously barbed spears into the sorry mass. Taking control of his tortured emotions, Karryl forced himself to think objectively. He continued to watch. Deprived of any vestige of humanity the line of captives were dragged roughly to their feet and forced at spear-point to continue their demeaning shuffling totter.

The thought that went out from his mind was bitterly scathing. “Was that really necessary?”

“We considered it so. It was only by subjecting you to a glimpse of a very possible future that we could make you begin to comprehend the true gravity of the situation.”

Leaning back on one of the doorposts, Karryl closed his eyes. His mind reeled as his memory flashed through the last few years. He recalled the finding of the book in the ruined cottage and his tumble at the Wyreditch, the discovery of the loss of the medallion, meeting Dhoum, and how quickly the time had passed as he trained and studied with Symon, Kimi, Mordas, D’ta and Lady Evalin. Fondly he recalled each face in turn. As the last one faded he grimly relived the terror of his first experience of grelfons, the short and hard-won battle, and the sorrow he felt for the people of Vellethen as their children fell prey to the cruel enchantment of unwakeable sleep. Every detail of his journey through the tunnels of Vedra was etched indelibly into his memory, the gut wrenching horror of the dark, oppressive temple, the shock of realising what Ghian had become, and his own euphoria as he recovered the medallion.

The voice which entered his mind seemed to Karryl detached and unemotional. “We agree. You have achieved a great deal for one so young. But this is not an adventure. Time is no longer on your side. The responsibility you have to bear is tremendous. What you have just seen barely scratches the surface of an appalling and very possible world, in the affairs of which we could have no part.”

Karryl’s knuckles shone white as he clung to the door-frame. “You knew Areel had already told me what would happen if I failed. Did you have to make it worse?”

“Yes, we did. But we drew the line at actually sending you in there. The prospect of having to retrieve an insanely gibbering mage held little appeal. Besides, allowing you to get in that state would be self-defeating.”

Sensing that something had changed, Karryl opened his eyes and looked down. He could see nothing. The wind had dropped, allowing a thick fog to roll in off the sea, totally obliterating the scene of desolation below him. The salt-tanged wetness stirred memories of times spent down by the harbour with Joel. In a perverse but natural progression his thoughts turned to Ghian, drunk with power in Vedra’s black temple, exulting in his possession of the medallion, gloating as his grelfon gorged. He knew then that this image of Ghian, and the deplorable example of inhumanity he had just been shown, would be the catalyst which kept him focussed.

“Good. It took some doing, but we got there eventually. I’m reliably informed they had a similar problem with Keril. He grew up almost overnight too.”

“Point taken. But wasn’t he much older than me when he fought his battle?”

“Not really. A year at the most. What gave you that idea?”

“Nothing specific. I just got that impression when I read the book. Unless… of course! He wrote the book a long time after!”

“Quite. He finished writing it just before Symon was born.”

Karryl thought about that for a while before turning a puzzled face up to the blue-white vastness above him. “Then why didn’t he just give the book to Symon’s mother, whoever she was, or even to Symon?”

“Suffice it to say it wasn’t possible. It was no mean feat that he arranged matters as he did. Had he lived his full span, things may have been quite different.”

“But why do
we
have to do it? What I mean is, why does it have to be a… a… living body that could get injured or even killed?”

“You mean a mortal?”

“Yes. Why does it have to be a mortal?”

Karryl would have sworn he heard a sigh. “For the reason that divine intervention is reserved solely for those times when mere mortals are found to be not possessed of the wit or wisdom to handle their own affairs for themselves, however badly.”

“Suppose I do badly.”

“You’ll do the best you can. Nobody can ask more of you than that. Now, please step back from the door.”

The change was instantaneous. He heard and saw nothing happen, but found his nose rather uncomfortably close to the familiar, white-painted kitchen door.