Mage Prime (Book 2) (29 page)

Carefully, Karryl framed his question. “Is there something I can do, some kind of enchantment that will make it possible to talk to these people? There are so many things I want to ask them. Unless, of course, you have the answers.”

There was a long silence, during which Karryl peered closely at another drawing, next to the one of the medallion.

To Karryl’s surprise, the entity sounded baffled. “Sorry, I haven’t any information about what’s going on down there, until I do some research. I just had a quick look through your eyes, but either it was before my time, or someone else dealt with it. Anyway, you should be able to talk to these people now, but only for as long as you stay on the island. Just say what you want to and it will come out in their language.”

Sensing that the entity had broken contact, Karryl turned to Slanvir. The man was watching him closely, his bright grin replaced by a mystified frown.

The young magician gave him a reassuring smile as he indicated the medallion. “Slanvir, where did you get this?”

Seeming rather startled, either by the question or by Karryl’s ability to speak his language, Slanvir pointed to the wooden Grrybhñnös. “Quaxlor gave it to us so that we would remember. Now that you have returned, are you going to take it away?”

A fleeting suspicion crossed Karryl’s mind and he shook his head. “No, not at all, but I would like to take a closer look at it.”

Slanvir lifted the chain over his head and carefully placed the medallion in Karryl’s outstretched hand. It was a copy, a faithfully produced replica, a little less weighty than the true medallion and the metal was a shade or two lighter in colour. After examining both sides, neither of which appeared to bear any markings, Karryl reached out and slipped the chain back over Slanvir’s head. “Thank you. Now, will you tell me what these drawings depict?”

Once again, Slanvir seemed surprised. “The full story is told here, revered Keril. Do you not remember?”

His suspicions confirmed, Karryl patted the broad shoulder of his guide. In a masterly piece of dissemblance he gave the stocky fisherman a knowing smile. “Indeed, good Slanvir, but I want to see if
you
do.”

Karryl listened attentively as they slowly worked their way along the wall, nodding whenever Slanvir looked up at him for approval. Each carefully drawn figure and diagram was explained. Gradually the bones of the myths with which Karryl had become familiar were fleshed out. At times he had to stifle gasps of astonishment as Slanvir brought ancient memories to life. By the time they reached the drawings behind the two wooden figures, Karryl’s mind was buzzing. Again he bent to peer at the drawing of the medallion, before focussing on a large and very detailed drawing next to it, so close they almost touched.

As if intending to test Slanvir’s memory further, Karryl indicated the drawing. “So Slanvir, what is this?”

The stocky man’s blue eyes lit up, and he almost danced in his eagerness to answer correctly, like a bright child in school. “That is the Navigator, revered Keril. As you can see, it was drawn most carefully before it was taken away. The Locator has been placed close, because they belong together.”

Karryl nodded, looking pleased. They moved slowly past drawings of more figures then Karryl stopped in front of a vertical line of three small graduated circles, with a larger circle some distance below them. “And what are these?”

Slanvir clasped his hands together and leaned towards Karryl as if about to impart some great secret. “They are the favourite stars of the Golden One. It is said he would return with you, but you have come alone. Will he also return?”

Confident he would not have to disappoint him, Karryl nodded and smiled at Slanvir. “He will come shortly. It is not his time yet. He still has much to do.”

Slanvir beamed and pointed further along the wall. “That is good. Now, we are almost at the end. This is where the drawing you gave to our people was copied. Your drawing has been handed down from generation to generation, and is my most treasured possession. No-one knows what it is of, although we made it bigger to try and understand. Come and see.”

Bringing the Light of Perimus close, Karryl moved to stand beside Slanvir who gestured proudly to a drawing set apart from the rest. At least three times larger than any of the others, it was drawn in clean, perfectly executed curving black lines on a white background.

Slanvir clasped his hands. “What do you think, revered Keril?”

Karryl stood back a little, folded his arms and studied the drawing intently. What it depicted he had absolutely no idea, but the artistry was superb. He felt as though he could reach out and run his hand over the sleekly curved surfaces, or peer into the deeply shadowed places along its length. Something on the wall above it caught his eye. He stepped forward again for a closer look. Drawn quite small, but still perfectly detailed were the medallion, which Slanvir had called the Locator, and the object he had called the Navigator.

Still clasping his hands Slanvir looked expectantly at Karryl. “Would you now reveal to us what it is, revered Keril?”

Not wanting to disappoint by saying that he was in fact totally mystified, Karryl was forced to dissemble yet again. “It cannot be revealed at this time, but the time is coming when all will be revealed. Then you will know.”

With a sigh of resignation, Slanvir crossed the cave to stand in front of the golden figure of the Grrybhñnös. With a wistful expression he ran short stubby fingers over the masterfully carved head then turned to Karryl who had resumed his scrutiny of the large drawing.

Slanvir’s eyes shone in the magical light. “He comes sometimes, but not close, and from a different direction. I think he watches over us.”

Intrigued, Karryl moved to stand beside him. “I haven’t seen him myself for a while. Where does he come from?”

Slanvir pointed straight up. “He comes from inside the mountain, usually after the gods that dwell there have spoken. He has never come from the ocean as you did.”

Karryl was about to explain, but then thought better of it. “Have the gods spoken recently?”

Slanvir nodded. “Barely two days ago. The others were above, watching for Quaxlor when I saw you walk out of the ocean. That is why I ran; to call them back.”

Karryl raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you lay a trap for me?”

Slanvir looked a little shame-faced. “I thought you may not be real. If you were a sending, you would not have been able to break through the warding and reach us.”

Karryl gave an approving nod, determined to ask Symon or Dhoum about sendings. “A wise precaution. Now, perhaps you will show me where you watch for Quaxlor.”

Slanvir hurried towards the narrow cleft of the cave entrance. After one more glance along the gallery of drawings, Karryl extinguished the Light of Perimus and followed Slanvir out. They arrived at the bottom of the treacherous little track to find the young woman was still sitting on the rock, her arms folded protectively over Karryl’s bundle of clothes.

He smiled down at her. “What is your name?”

The young woman stood, blushed slightly and answered in a quiet voice. “I am called Selira.”

As she watched him from beneath lowered eyelashes, Karryl looked around for Slanvir. He caught sight of him some way along the well-maintained shingle path. Karryl held out a hand towards Selira. “We are going to try and catch sight of Quaxlor. Are you coming with us?”

Selira shook her head. “I will go and prepare something for you to eat when you come back down. It is a long way, and you’ll be tired and hungry.”

Before Karryl could reply, Selira had turned away and was heading off down the path towards the group of little cottages on the bluff.

He called after her. “I may not come back. If Quaxlor comes I must go with him.”

She stopped. Her back to him, she stood for a long moment before turning and slowly walking back. She looked up into his face, her blue eyes glistening. “Will you return?”

Karryl smiled, surprised to find himself moved by the quiet hope implied in her wistful query. “I don’t know. It is possible. When, I couldn’t say. It may be a very long time.”

Head lowered to hide her disappointment, Selira held out the bundle of clothes. “Then you may need these. I will await your return.”

He barely had time to grab the bundle she pushed into his hands before she had spun round and was off once more towards the bluff, no longer striding proudly, but stumbling, blinded by tears of dismay. Perplexed by her behaviour Karryl watched until she disappeared round a curve in the path. Hitching the bundle onto his shoulder he set off to catch up with Slanvir.

The two groups ran into each other in the darkness about two miles outside Vellethen, Vintar’s men already settled into the rhythm of forced march, the villagers of Mudlin tired, terrified and straggling. Amid a clamour of voices a woman dashed forward. With a great wail of anguish she flung her arms around Gilfric, and hugged him fiercely to her.

Tears streaming down her cheeks she spoke between choking sobs. “Your father’s gone, Gil. He’s gone!”

As the rest of the villagers crowded round Vintar, Gilfric took the woman to one side. “It’s all right mother. He’s quite safe. He ran away while the thing was eating his horse, and now he’s gone to get another one.”

The transformation was instant, but no less than Gilfric expected. Hastily wiping at her teary eyes, her face became a study in indignation. “Just like your father. No thought for me, only his blasted horse. Just clear off out of it and get another one!”

Before Gilfric could say another word, she had stamped off and joined the other villagers being shepherded onto the Vellethen road by two of Vintar’s men, with instructions to take them to the barracks. With the population of Mudlin safely on their way once more, Vintar got his men moving towards the village again, pike-men to the front and the crossbow-men bringing up the rear, guided onto a narrower but shorter route by Gilfric.

The village of Mudlin consisted of a scattering of stone built cottages, an inn and a couple of smallholdings. Surrounding these were a few acres of pasture and further acres of flat arable land bounded on three sides by woodland. On the fourth side, the river Lowen rushed between willow-lined banks towards Vellethen on its way to the sea. Gilfric crouched with Vintar and his platoon, spread out just inside the nearest tree-line. In front of them lay an acre of half-ploughed field, the ridges and furrows making strong contrasts under the pale cold light of a waxing moon. Vapours of expelled breath vanished almost instantly into air which bit with the first teeth of an early morning frost. Icy drops fell from the bare branches of the trees, tapping a slow tattoo on helms and half-armour, a monotonously rhythmic accompaniment to the frequent hooting of owls, and a fox’s strident bark. Vintar settled onto his stomach and propped himself on his elbows.

He spoke in the kind of low voice which carries far less than a whisper. “What are we looking at Gilfric lad? How does this lie?”

Fighting bravely to keep a tremor out of his voice, the messenger began to describe what they could see of the little village in which he had been born and raised. “Well, this here is my father’s field, and the road runs close alongside it over there to the right. On the other side of the road is the village, about a mile from one end to the other. All the cottages are more or less in a row, a few paces back from the road. Then at the end is Tam Fitchett’s holding, and opposite that on this side of the road is Ned Barley’s holding. Oh! Before them is the inn. That’s on this side.”

Vintar nodded as he visualised a typical rural village layout. “Have the holdings got barns?”

“Yes sir, but only the one on each. Quite big, although they’re not so full this time of year.”

The burly Captain gestured to the wide open area in front of them. “Is there any way we can get to the village without crossing that open field?”

Gilfric didn’t have to stop and think. “Well, it be quite a long way, but you can go right round through the woods, and you comes out at the back of Ned Barley’s top field. You’ll be past the village then.” He went quiet for a moment. “D’you think it’s still there sir?”

Vintar nodded, a grim twist to his mouth. “From what I know of these things I should say it’s more than a possibility.”

Knowing who was crouched in the thin undergrowth beside him, Vintar kept his eyes on the field and the dark silhouettes of the tall trees beyond. “Sergeant Darke. Get the men moving, but quietly? I want them to keep just behind the tree-line all the way to the other end of the village. You should see a holding there, with a large barn. Are the crossbow-men nearby?”

Darke’s reply was immediate. “Yes sir. Parry and Carter, plus Wyke and Buller, the two master-bowmen that were posted in from up north. I think those four are the best any army could wish for.”

“I agree. Leave Wyke and ten men with me, and have Parry, Carter and Buller spaced equally between there and here. Tell the men they are to watch and listen. If they see the target, they are not to engage until I give the signal.”

Darke padded softly off through the moist leaf-litter to get the men moving.

Vintar turned to Gilfric. “How far is it from here to the road at this end of the village?” He received no reply.

Gilfric was staring out across the moonlit field. He started and turned as if the question had suddenly registered in his brain. “Oh! Sorry sir. It’s not far.” He pointed back over Vintar’s shoulder into the trees. “About ten minutes through the woods that way, and you’ll meet the road.” Then he turned his attention once more to the field. “Sir! There’s something out there in the middle of father’s field. An odd, dark shape, but I can’t make out what it is.”

As Vintar squinted in an effort to identify the irregular patch of darkness he felt someone stop close beside him. “The men are moving sir. Wyke and nine others are with me.”

“Thank you Sergeant. Ask bowman Wyke how good his eyesight is, will you?”

There was a slight shuffling and low murmuring. Vintar glanced behind. Wyke hunkered down beside him, his unloaded crossbow resting easily against his broad shoulder. “Happen you’ll be wanting me to look at something, sir.”

Vintar nodded in the direction of the field. “There’s a large dark patch over there, near the middle. Can you make out what it is?”

Wyke found the spot and focussed on it. Soft footfalls whispered through the trees behind. After a few moments concentration the bow-man turned to Vintar and grinned. Lowering his crossbow from his shoulder, he swung round and leaned his back against a tree. He began to cock the bow, praying that the wide bole of the tree would muffle the noise of the ratchet.

Vintar watched for a long moment then pushed himself up to crouch beside Wyke’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Wyke finished winding and produced a leather-finned bolt from a short quiver at his belt. “Aye sir, I’m sure. I wouldn’t waste one of these beauties on a shadow. I mek me own, so they fly true. I’ll need t’be a bit closer though, but I reckon the bugger’s asleep, or happen he’s dead. Now, that’d be summat. Where are Buller and t’others?”

It was Sergeant Darke who answered. “They’ll be about a quarter of the way round by now. Do you want them back here?”

Wyke shook his head. “Nay, but get a squaddie up to ‘em. Tell ‘em to get cocked and loaded and keep an eye on me. They’ll see me a’right. Their eyesight’s as good as mine. I’ll bide here until t’squaddie comes back.”

Gilfric, who had shuffled sideways and was prudently tucked behind the sturdy trunk of a young oak, sprang to his feet. “I’ll go sir. I’ll be faster.”

Before anyone could contradict him he had disappeared into the chill woodland darkness. Wyke slipped the bolt into its track. He sat caressing his crossbow, the tension mounting as Vintar, Sergeant Darke and his squad waited.

In a surprisingly short space of time, Gilfric was back and crouching, a little short of breath, beside Wyke. “They’ll be ready. They said they’d watch for you to come out of the trees and they’d keep pace with you.”

Wyke patted him on the shoulder. “Grand. Now, you stay back in t’trees. I’m gone.”