The Flight of the Griffin (13 page)

Belial winced at Bartholomew’s words.

‘I would be awfully obliged if you could possibly refrain from swearing by the…well, no swearing if you please,’ said Belial good-naturedly, and then added as if as an afterthought. ‘Or I may have to roast you over a fire pit for all of eternity.’ The Demon laughed and a deeper timbre seemed to enter his voice.

The tankard Bartholomew was clutching clattered noisily on the table.

‘Only joking, Mr Bask, only joking,’ he added. Yet his eyes showed that he might not really be joking at all.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ mumbled Bartholomew, and he was; much to the delight of Matheus Hawk.

****

Chapter 8

The T
owers

Inside the darkness of the doorway, it was dry, and the wind reduced to a low ominous moan of anguish at their escape. Remains of a great archway were strewn about the entrance, a few rotten scraps of timber the only evidence of a door, the rest having long since rotted or blown away, along with much of the surrounding stonework.

As their eyes became accustomed, the crew of
The Griffin
could see they’d arrived in a large entrance hall. A flash of lightning illuminated everything for a moment as they shook water from their cloaks and they were left with the impression of two huge staircases sweeping in graceful curves from both the left and right-hand side and meeting in the darkness of unknown levels above. In the centre of the hall, under bits of stone and more remains of the wooden door, they could just make out what had once been an ornamental fountain. An old chandelier was perched on top having fallen centuries past, scattering its crystals across the ground, leaving the hall sad, cold and decayed.

With nothing dry between them they had no chance of making torches, so it was left to Loras to provide the light. He proudly muttered a few words and sent two glowing blue globes ahead to light the way; shadows flickered about them as they started to climb.

‘The lower levels were where the students, servants and soldiers lived,’ explained Mahra. ‘But I think our search should begin above with the masters’ levels and the towers. The council occupied the four towers, and as we’re looking for the skull that links to Magician Pew we should head to his tower first, which is the East Tower.’ The gloom fled back upon the approach of the globes and they could see that where paintings and tapestries had once been hung in decoration, now only strips of mildewed cloth and broken frames remained. Loras led, with Mahra pointing out things as the memories returned to her. The two flights of stairs finally met at a wide landing in front of large closed doors.

‘As a student, this was as far as you could come without a master. It feels strange to be here now. I would ring on this bell,’ she held out her hand to where a chain was hanging from the wall then pulled it; a bell tolled inside making everyone shuffle nervously. They all stood for a while, staring at the door.

‘I don’t think we’re going to get a master to come,’ pointed out Pardigan nervously, ‘shall we just go in?’ they waited patiently for Mahra.

‘Yes, I think maybe we should,’ said Mahra, reaching for the handle.

‘Stop!’
yelled Tarent, running forward. Mahra froze hand outstretched. ‘Something’s not right,’ Tarent pushed to the front. ‘I can sense some sort of energy coming from the handle. I can feel it as if it were glowing, yet my eyes tell me it isn’t, I think it must be a trap of some sort.’ Mahra withdrew her hand and they all stepped back.

Tarent crouched down peering at the doorknob. ‘I think it’s some sort of spell that’s sensitive to heat - can you tell anything, Loras?’

Loras shook his head. ‘No nothing, but if it’s sensitive to heat, maybe I can use magic to turn the knob.'

Retreating down the staircase several steps, they watched while Loras muttered some words then turned an imaginary knob in front of him some distance from the real one on the door. The knob rattled, the door creaked and then swept open with a waft of ancient learning and decay, but without anything exploding or going wrong. Tarent reported that the strange feeling had vanished; the spell must have dissipated as soon as the door opened. The glow globes slipped inside and the group followed one by one.

‘This is the main corridor of the masters’ area,’ whispered Mahra, indicating the long straight hallway that the globes were illuminating. It was cold, dark and as still as a grave. Lurking in the shadows, either real or imagined, was an ominous presence, as if something was biding its time, content to wait through eternity for the moment it could awake - they could all feel it.

Mahra shuddered. ‘Chambers and other corridors lead off all over the academy. Over fifty masters led their lives here with their sleeping quarters, laboratories and libraries all on this level.’

They set off down the corridor, their feet making strange crunching sounds as they went.

‘What is that?’ exclaimed Pardigan in disgust. With the globes ahead of them it was hard to see what they were treading on, it sounded like eggshells or sticks or...

‘They’re bones,’ said Loras staring down. ‘Thousands and thousands of bones…I don’t like it here,’ he added in a small voice. ‘Something is…evil.’ They peered down as Loras lit a smaller, brighter globe to show them.

The hall was indeed covered in bones, human bones, and not in small skeletal piles where someone may have died, but evenly scattered all along the corridor, giving the impression of a long narrow crypt where the dead had been disturbed as they lay at rest.

‘No skulls,’ pointed out Tarent in a hushed tone. ‘There are lots of bones of all sorts, the larger ones broken, but there aren’t any skulls.’

‘Are you all right, Mahra?’ Pardigan asked quietly. Mahra was making small mewing sounds and tears were gently sliding down her cheeks.

‘These were my friends,’ she said gazing at the floor. ‘It’s not as if I can recognise them, but I remember them now after forgetting them for so long. Some homecoming, isn’t it?’ She sniffed back her tears and wiped her face with the back of her hands in an extremely cat-like way. With a shudder she pulled herself together. ‘Come on, let’s get on with this.’ She strode off, crunching along the corridor.

‘Go slowly and let me keep to the front,’ warned Tarent pushing forward. ‘If there was one trap, it stands to reason there’ll be others.’  He and Mahra walked side by side down the corridor.

As they passed open doors they peered in. The globes revealing the remains of furniture, pots and bottles all covered with a thick layer of dust and ancient cobwebs. Other rooms held row upon row of books, desks and chairs; time had stood still. Loras tried to pick a book up but it crumbled in his hands.

‘So much knowledge gone,’ he moaned. ‘Unless I can somehow stabilise them
, I wonder?’ he walked on, lost in thought.

‘Come on, Loras,’ Pardigan hurried his friend along with a nudge. ‘Let’s get this skull thing and get out of here - this place is creepy.’

As Tarent moved on, slowly scanning for more traps, his hands were playing with his staff, constantly twisting it open and closed with a click. Pardigan began absently tossing a knife in the air and Quint walked with a scowl, his hand on his sword ready for anything. Loras was the only one not on edge and having a wonderful time. He walked along in his own little world muttering about stabilising paper and peering with interest into every room.

‘You’ll get your nose blown off if you’re not careful, Loras,’ warned Tarent. ‘Stay with us.’

At last they reached the bottom of the corridor where it split into two directions.

‘That way leads to the
West Tower and this way leads to Magician Pew’s rooms in the East Tower,’ explained Mahra leading them east. They passed more and more rooms before a sharp snapping sound brought them to an abrupt halt. It echoed along the passages and the group glanced around wide-eyed.

‘What was that and where’s Loras?’ hissed Quint.  Distant shuffling sounds were coming from both ends of the corridor, accompanied by something like a long drawn out sigh - the vibrations of which were sending up little white clouds of dust from the bones at their feet.

‘He was behind me a moment ago,’ whispered Pardigan, peering around in the gloom. ‘But now…he must have wandered into one of these rooms; he’s been poking around all over the place.’ Moving towards an open door, some way back down the corridor, he peered inside, Tarent started checking further on.

‘Go carefully,’ warned Quint, pushing to the front again. The sounds were getting closer. It was the same crunching of bones that they had been making, but the sigh had changed to a strange rustling sound. They glanced at each other nervously. ‘I think we’re going to have company,’ muttered Quint reaching for his sword and drawing it clear with a loud ring.

‘He’s in here!’ yelled Tarent, from one of the rooms. They ran over and gathered at the door. Quint and Pardigan took a quick look in at the hapless Loras, before turning back to guard the corridor from whatever was about to emerge from the dark.

Loras was trapped inside a large bubble. He didn’t seem to be hurt, and was actually smiling and waving happily at them from inside. They could see him moving his lips, talking, but couldn’t hear anything he said.

Mahra groaned. ‘It’s a bubble trap. The magicians would often use these to discipline students or to do exactly what this one has done and trap unwanted intruders. They’re really hard to…’ a loud pop echoed round the room and Loras was standing beaming at them.

‘Wasn’t that fantastic, thousand year old magic and still working; amazing? I wonder what it was guarding.’ He started to move further into the room before Mahra brought him up short.

‘Loras, I don’t know how you got out of that thing, but we have company, we have to get going, its best we explore later.’ She pulled at the sleeve of his robe, ‘Please, Loras, come on!’

‘Too late!’ they heard Quint yell, as the clash of metal upon metal echoed in the corridor. Dashing out of the room, they found Quint and Pardigan furiously fending off attackers from both directions. Quint was slashing his sword from left to right in the confined space, keeping three skeletal warriors at bay, while Pardigan faced the other direction with a knife in each hand. He was facing two skeletons, keeping them back with his blades, whilst also managing to send bolts of lightning crackling through the air at the same time. Unlike the skeletons that had attacked them on the boat, these were armed with swords and axes and were fighting in a strange disconcerting silence; their sightless eyes, flickering windows to a world of horror. Further along the corridor, more skeletons were approaching accompanied by small black creatures,
skittering along on their hind legs. They resembled large rodents with pinched, rat-like faces filled with evil yellow teeth. They squeaked and chattered amongst themselves as they scuttled along. Metal armour covered their chests and gripped in human like hands was an array of wicked black knives.

‘Oh Source!’ yelled Mahra. ‘They’re Ratten - creations of Magician Bleak. Loras, heat their armour and don’t let them get close.’
A black knife came flashing past Pardigan and one of the Ratten screeched in triumph as it found its mark in Quint’s arm. He let out a yell and fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

Tarent moved in to fill the gap, twisting free the two halves of his staff and cutting a skeleton in two with his first strike. A Ratten launched itself over the backs of its brethren, and gave a shrill cry as it fell down towards Tarent’s unprotected back.  At the last moment he spun and sliced the creature in two, each half falling to the floor with a sickly thud. He glanced down to be sure it was dead then turned back to the horde still streaming down the corridor.

Quint was fighting the pain, clutching his arm. ‘We have to find somewhere safe,’ he managed to gasp, pushing himself up.

‘We can try to make for one of the towers,’ said Mahra. ‘We'll find fewer creatures towards the
West Tower, let’s make for there.’ Quint staggered to his feet.

‘All right, I’ll help hold the east side with Loras - the rest of you move on as fast as you can - preferably before I faint.’ He held his injured arm to his side, gritted his teeth, and swung one-handed at the attackers as Loras sent bolts of energy, heating the Ratten’s armour, sending them shrieking and spitting in retreat. Mahra returned to the shape of the Panther and leapt at one of the rat-like fighters, shaking it viciously before pinning it to the ground to tear at its throat while it tried to stab a small knife repeatedly but ineffectually into her neck. It died quickly, before it could do much damage and she was swiftly up and smashing a skeleton to pieces with the swipe of a huge paw.

‘I’m going to move behind them,’ said Pardigan, sighting further down the corridor, before quickly place-shifting.

A huge whoosh filled his ears followed by a moment of feeling unsteady then saw he’d successfully shifted behind the attacking creatures. He let fly with two knives into the unprotected backs of the closest Ratten and they fell squealing and twitching to the floor. Pulling free his knives, he ran in to attack the few remaining skeletons. The combined force quickly dealt with the smaller group of creatures as Loras sent a ball of fire towards the larger group, driving them back. With the few moments of time that this bought them, they turned and fled for the west end of the corridor, and their departing friends.