Mage Prime (Book 2) (33 page)

The corners of Karryl’s mouth turned down. “It’s to be hoped there’s no lasting damage.”

Aided by Magnor and his companions, the rest of the platoon had rid themselves of their heavy covering of snow. Not all of them noticed that hands stayed on their shoulders just a little longer than was needed. It was only when a few of them commented on how they could feel a pleasant warmth creeping through their bodies, that some of them begin to suspect they were in the company of more than just huntsmen.

Magnor trotted down the road to where Karryl knelt beside the cold and motionless form of bowman Parry. “Need any help, Master Karryl?”

The young magician grimaced. “I may do, if my first result isn’t encouraging.”

Magnor knelt close beside him, hands resting on knees. The remainder of the platoon, under warning from Vintar, moved up to gather round and watch from a discreet distance. Unwilling to aggravate the bowman’s sore hands any further, Karryl shuffled down until he was by his feet. Quickly he removed the black-splattered boots. With his long hands wrapped round Parry’s bony ankles, Karryl closed his eyes. At that moment a screaming, blood-curdling roar split the air. Shouts of warning went up as Magnor’s huntsmen raised the alarm. Ignoring the sudden cacophony of steel hissing from scabbards, running feet and barked orders, Karryl held his concentration.

Another huge grelfon had materialised a short way back from the spot where Symon and Karryl had arrived only a short while before. Wyke had already taken his first shot. Missing the vital spot on the attacking grelfon’s brow-ridge, the bolt had lodged in the side of the creature’s neck. Enraged by the vicious sting of the cold steel, it voided a foul, steaming greenish-black torrent in the direction of its attackers. Its potency diminished by the cold air, the vile effluence fell short, splattering in coagulating sheets over the backs and wings of its lifeless kin. With Parry out of action, Buller and Carter ran up to flank Wyke, cocking and loading with a speed and efficiency born of long practice. Magnor’s men were faster. Arrows were nocked to strings and released in a blur of motion, filling the chilled air with the deadly susurration of flying shafts. As the crossbow-men took aim, a second volley of arrows sped eagerly to find their target, followed by the sharp thwack of crossbows sending their bolts whistling after them. Each projectile found a mark, but the most telling was the long, white-feathered shaft protruding from one of the massive beast’s reptilian eyes.

Lifting its immense, five-sectioned wings the grelfon thrust forward its sinuous scaly neck. With a frenzied ululating scream, it launched itself violently into the air and towards the horrified bowmen, initiating a rapid but orderly retreat. Crippled by an arrow-torn wing, pierced neck and a blinded eye, the creature’s counter-attacking flight was doomed to failure. Lumbering and unsteady, it lost height and co-ordination. The massive body tilted, tumbling heavily towards the snow-covered ground. With a final screech of defiance and an explosive thump it landed amid the glutinous stinking mess of grelfon corpses. As it attempted to lift its scaly, lizard-like head, Adrick, one of Magnor’s huntsmen, ran forward.

A long clear note rang through the sudden silence as his broadsword sang from its scabbard, and with one hefty stroke the huntsman brought the deadly blade whistling down. Cleanly severed, the creature’s head fell away from the neck to land with a sickening squelch, the pale yellowish ichor which served as blood dripping and oozing down to mingle with icy slush. Stomachs heaved and fatigued arms and legs trembled as soldiers and huntsmen stared appalled at the noxious remains.

A hundred paces away and only dimly aware of the dramatic events taking place behind him, Karryl held his power in check, slowly releasing a steady trickle through Parry’s gradually warming body. The bowman stirred. Karryl broke contact, allowing the recovery to continue naturally.

Magnor stood up, brushing snow off his knees. “Be back in a while. Just going to see what’s happened back there.”

Only half hearing, Karryl nodded absently, his gaze firmly fixed on the bowman’s pallid face. Magnor hurried away. Parry opened his eyes. Only then did Karryl place a hand on the trembling bowman’s shoulder and gradually initiated a warming spell.

As the trembling abated and a little colour returned to the man’s face, Karryl wrapped the loose folds of the blanket round him and stood up. “You’re in no danger now. Lie there quietly, and I’ll be back soon.”

Bowman Parry’s response was a weak little smile, and Karryl set off after Magnor.

Allowing the men no chance to brood on the events they had just witnessed, Vintar and Sgt. Darke soon had them prepared to march. Magnor and his huntsmen surveyed the stinking heap of grelfon corpses. Murmurs of approval rose in the cold air as Adrick contemptuously wiped his blade clean on the feathered shoulders of the one he had beheaded.

As Karryl joined them, Vintar took him to one side, keeping his voice low. “How is bowman Parry?”

Karryl glanced back before replying. “He’ll recover with no harm done, but he’s too weak to march.” He gestured towards Magnor and his men. “We’ll bring him back with us. Tell me Captain. Is he any kin to Master Jack Parry?”

Vintar rubbed his cold hands together and nodded. “He is indeed. They’re brothers, but Jack has the brains and Will has the brawn. I’ve had the good fortune to see them working together. They make a formidable pairing.”

Magician and Captain turned as Sgt. Darke approached and snapped up a salute. “The men are ready to march sir. There is speculation that this last monster might not be the one that poor young Gilfric saw. He said he saw a small one in a field, further on.” He pointed in the direction of Vellethen.

Returning the salute, Vintar’s expression was dark. “Get them moving Sergeant and tell them to keep their eyes open. If there is another, and it’s a small one, it may well have succumbed to the cold and died, but let’s not take any chances.”

As his Sergeant returned to brief the platoon, Vintar gave Karryl a long look then jerked a thumb at the sagging heap in the middle of the road. “I presume you’re going to… er… you know… with that lot?”

Karryl chuckled. “Yes, we are going to… you know… that lot.”

Briefly they clasped hands. Vintar hurried away to catch up with his platoon, the steady cadence of their march already being carried back on the biting wind which had risen to follow the blizzard in from the sea.

Magnor studied the messy pile of grelfon corpses, then turned to Karryl and raised an eyebrow. “How do you feel about transporting these? It’ll take a fair bit of power. There’s a lot more to shift than we had at the palace.”

The young Mage-Prime grinned. “Power won’t be the problem. I just hope I can hold my breath long enough to work an enclosing spell that will cover them all.”

Magnor chuckled as he and Karryl moved to take up position on opposite sides of the grisly heap. Their first attempt at the spell collapsed before it was even half complete as, to Karryl’s surprise, it was Magnor who succumbed to the appalling stench and had to step away to take some deep breaths of fresh air. Karryl also stepped back and turned away as his broad brow furrowed.

He was still lost in thought when Magnor nudged his elbow. “Sorry about that. Perhaps I should have held my breath too. Shall we start again?

Karryl held up a finger as his mouth slowly curved in a knowing smile. “I believe I’ve thought of an alternative. It should be possible to translocate them out into the ocean, unless you want to take them back to study.”

His companion released a long and visible breath of relief. “Not at all. We’ve got enough to study. Let’s do it. That’s a miasma I don’t want to contend with for too much longer.”

Karryl nodded in agreement, then turned and stared at the remains, which were still creaking and squelching as they settled. For the benefit of the onlooking huntsmen, he spread his arms out to his sides, palms upwards and murmured a short phrase. The result was not quite what Karryl was expecting. Instead of simply vanishing, the whole mass rose about two feet into the air and hung there, slowly becoming transparent until the road, the snow-covered verges and the hedge beyond were all quite visible, resembling the view through a rain-wet window. The Mage-Prime found himself in a quandary. Was this simply an after-image, or an amorphous duplicate? As if in answer to his unspoken question, one of the huntsmen nocked an arrow and sent it whistling towards the deepest section of the suspended image. The arrow sailed cleanly through, its barbed head piercing a thick snow-covered tussock.

He looked at Magnor whose expression of extreme puzzlement matched his own. “Now what?”

Magnor shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen a transference spell do that before. Where did you send them?”

“I visualised the ocean about three miles east of the palace. I’ve heard it’s pretty deep there, and it’s away from the shipping lane.” He took a pace forward and peered at the glassy image. “Well, we can’t just leave that there.”

With his hands tucked inside the sleeves of his robe, he paced slowly back and forth, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as he frowned in concentration.

After a few minutes he stopped in front of Magnor who also appeared to be lost in thought. “Do you think that if I repeated the spell, it would get rid of that as well?”

Magnor grimaced. “Hm-m-m-m. It’s not exactly a solid object, is it? There’s a chance the spell could turn and send the nearest solid object instead.”

Karryl’s face brightened. “That’s all right then!” He pointed to the arrow, still lodged in the tussock. “It will transfer that and hopefully take our problem with it.”

Magnor looked dubious, but nodded. “I suppose it’s worth a try. Just give me a couple of seconds to get out of the way.” He shrugged as Karryl glared at him. “Well, you never know.”

With Magnor standing half a dozen paces away with his huntsmen, Karryl raised his arms and re-cast the spell of transference. The arrow vanished, and the ghostly grelfon image faded away as if it had never been there.

Karryl gave a satisfied smirk and picked his way over the churned-up snow to stand beside Magnor. “There. That’s done. Now, one last thing. Would you gather up bowman Parry and take him to the infirmary before you go back to wherever it is you go?”

Magnor nodded. “That won’t be a problem. Where are you off to then?”

Karryl flapped an arm in the general direction of Vellethen. “I want to see if Symon’s returned to the apartment. Hopefully he’s had time to get young Gilfric’s body in safe keeping and get back there. So, I’ll bid you good day, and thanks for your help. I don’t think we could have done it without you.”

He stepped forward and held out his hand. Magnor and the huntsmen stared. The only sign of Karryl was his ill-defined footprints in the slush. He had vanished.

Adrick looked all around, his eyebrows almost meeting in a puzzled frown. “I thought he was going to shake our hands.”

Magnor sounded equally baffled. “So did I.” He held out his hand and passed it a few times over the spot where Karryl had been standing. His tone changed from bafflement to concern. “There’s no trace; nothing at all. It’s as if he was never here. I think we’d better gather up bowman Parry and take him back with us. There’s no time to waste. I think something’s gone badly wrong.”

He felt suddenly very sick. Something was horribly wrong and as yet he couldn’t figure out what it was. All he knew was that nothing was as he expected it to be. Gazing slowly about him, he swallowed hard. How could anything have changed so much in such a short time?

Knowing that Symon would more than likely be back by now, Karryl had decided to arrive outside the door of their apartment at the palace, then walk in and surprise the little magician. Instead, he stood and stared at the door whose furnishings he remembered gleaming against its rich dark red paint. Now, only faded blue paint flaked away under his fingers, the brass furnishings black with age and neglect. In a rare moment of indecision Karryl looked at the key, then at the door, before dropping the key back in his pocket and turning away. Heading down the interconnecting corridor, he was well on his way to the interior of the palace when he caught sight of one of the house-maids scurrying along ahead of him, a bundle of fresh linen in her arms. He called out to her. “Pardon me, miss. Can you help me?”

The maid stopped and turned towards him, her eyes wide. Seeing Karryl’s cap and robe, she dipped a little curtsey. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

He didn’t recognise the maid, but she was very pretty. Karryl smiled. “Could you tell me where I might find Jobling?”

Blushing slightly she pointed in the direction from which Karryl had just come. “This time of day he’ll most likely be in the kitchens, overseeing breakfast. Do you know the way sir?”

Karryl smiled again and gave the maid a polite little bow. “Indeed I do, and I thank you for your assistance.”

He turned around, and as he was about to enter the corridor that would eventually lead back to the kitchens, he looked back. The maid was still standing where he had left her, watching him with a very puzzled expression on her young face.

He spotted Jobling as soon as he entered the kitchens. Dressed in a more conservative plain black, rather than his usual formal blue and gold livery, the major-domo was watching the bustling activities of cooks and potboys with an eagle eye. A wordless nod from one of the cooks drew his attention to Karryl standing in the doorway.

The two men moved towards each other and Karryl gave a sigh of relief. “Aah! Jobling! Perhaps you can…”

The epitome of polite calm, Jobling reached forward and placed a gentle but persuasive hand beneath Karryl’s elbow. “I’m sorry sir; visitors are not permitted to enter this area of the palace. Allow me to escort you.”

Shock and disbelief registered on Karryl’s face as he jerked his arm away from Jobling’s touch. “What are you talking about? It’s me, Karryl!”

Folding his hands behind his back, Jobling gave a small but respectful bow of his head. “There must be some mistake sir. To the best of my knowledge, we are not acquainted. Erm… are you here for the funeral?”

Subjecting himself to a rapid series of mental athletics, Karryl began to realise that he had a problem, one which wasn’t helped by the fact that he had no idea of whose funeral Jobling was referring to. Barely hesitating, the young mage nodded and furrowed his brow. “Yes. A terrible business. It’s been a great shock for everyone.”

Jobling nodded as he gestured towards the door. “Indeed sir. Everyone is grieving, not only in the palace, but throughout the land. Now, let me show you back to the south wing, where all our guests are being accommodated. Lady Evalin will be meeting everyone during the course of the day.”

Karryl’s eyes glinted. “Ah! Lady Evalin. Yes. I really would like to speak with her. We have much to talk about, although the time is hardly appropriate.”

Jobling seemed only mildly curious. “You know the Lady Evalin sir?”

Karryl’s thoughts ran fast and smooth. “Yes. In fact, I’ve just come from Arinel.”

One of the major-domo’s eyebrows lifted slightly but he said nothing more until they arrived at the wide arched doorway of the south wing. “Have you been allocated a room sir?”

With only the minimum of information to work with, Karryl had already formulated a plan. He gave Jobling an ingenuous smile. “Not yet. I’ve been travelling all night and only just arrived.” Taking a step forward, Karryl lowered his voice as if sharing a confidence. “I was hoping to see Master Symon as soon as possible. Would you happen to know where he is?”

Jobling gave a brief nod. “Indeed sir. He is where he has been since the tragedy occurred; he is the constant companion and comforter of the Crown Prince.”

Something clicked into place in Karryl’s mind. The understanding that registered on his face was not, as Jobling thought, for Symon’s current situation, but for his own. Although he had transported himself to the right place, somehow an aberration had occurred during the transfer of the grelfon corpses, and taken him ten years back in time.

The shock of realisation threatening to overwhelm him, the young mage took a deep breath, stood back and folded his hands in front of him. “Of course. That is only to be expected. Perhaps I shall have chance to meet up with him again later.”

Apparently satisfied with that, Jobling opened the door. “Quite possibly sir. This way please.” As they strode along a broad corridor lined with tapestries and portraits draped with swags of black fabric, Jobling looked pointedly at the young mage. “Er… where is your luggage sir? I’ll have it brought to your room.”

Karryl flicked a dismissive hand. “It’s following. It should be here soon, and I can see to it. There’s very little.”

Jobling’s long face remained expressionless as he held open the door. “Very good sir.” He stood to one side as Karryl entered the room. “You will find an itinerary on the small table sir, and no doubt you will wish to rest after your journey. This afternoon, someone will be sent to escort you to the lying-in-state in the Great Hall, if that is your wish.”

Almost, but not quite caught wrong-footed, Karryl paused before gathering his thoughts and turning slowly. The last few seconds had been enough time for the full truth of his situation to register, and his expression of sadness and regret was very real. “Yes, Jobling. It would haunt me all my days, should I fail in that duty.”

The major-domo acknowledged with a bow and was about to leave, but stopped with one hand resting on the doorknob. “Excuse me sir, but you have me at a slight disadvantage. As I do not recall our ever having met, how did you recognise me?”

Karryl gave him an unwavering look and a wry smile. “Lady Evalin described you perfectly.”

Although Jobling kept his expression neutral, Karryl formed the distinct impression that the man was not thoroughly convinced. As the door closed, Karryl pulled up a chair to the window, and sat down with a heavy sigh. He had a feeling that before too long, guards would be arriving and he would find himself a guest in one of the less appealing areas of the palace until after the funeral. Snatching up the itinerary, he quickly glanced through it, but as he wasn’t certain what day it was, he couldn’t be sure how long it would be before the ceremony took place.

The absurdity of his situation began to make itself felt and he fought to maintain his composure. Calming himself in the infallible way Symon had taught him in the early days of his apprenticeship, Karryl stared out of the window as he quickly assessed the options open to him. He knew that he had little chance before the funeral of being able to contact Symon, or of being given the opportunity to try and convince someone of the rather unlikely truth of his situation. Anyway, if he was allowed to plead his case, who would possibly believe his story? It even sounded unlikely to him.

Realising that his circumstances were certainly unique, Karryl was briefly torn between the necessity of getting out of this irrational situation as soon as possible, or taking the opportunity to reap whatever advantages might present themselves. His sharp hearing caught the soft sound of a shuffling thump, and he knew that should he open the door, he would almost certainly find a guard outside. Standing up, he quickly folded the itinerary, pushed it into his pocket, closed his eyes and concentrated. With no time to devise a better plan, he knew he was taking a big chance, but he had a sneaking feeling that this one might just work. He just had to be patient.