War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (11 page)

It was a brief lull which spared no time for comment or congratulation. Intent on avenging the death of their leader and its rider, a murder of un-ridden grelfons hurtled down through the grey murk and the driving rain, straight towards the group of magicians. Karryl stopped spinning wind, immediately augmenting Bardeen’s ice spell with one of his own. A grim smile of satisfaction curved his mouth. Immobilised by cold and encased in ice, the front pair of attackers crashed heavily to the ground, sending shards of ice splintering and flying all around the three magicians. The respite was brief. Necks and viciously curved claws outstretched, two more of the screaming creatures veered off and plunged sharply into a counter attack. The monstrous flying beasts crashed headlong into a solid wall of triple generated power as Miqhal added his own unique skills. Stunned to insensibility by the impact, the creatures collided heavily and tumbled. Entangled wings were encased in rapidly thickening ice as Bardeen swiftly and flawlessly converted his spell. Tons of frozen flesh crashed to the ground, bursting apart to send chunks and shards flying high into the air, and clattering down the cobbled street. Above the rain-swept hill which led to the palace, another half-dozen massive winged forms darkly filled the louring sky.

Bardeen gasped. “There are too many! Get back inside!”

His bid for retreat was halted by Miqhal’s commanding tone. “Wait and watch.”

Head held high, arms raised, Miqhal opened his mouth and released a long, high-pitched ululating call. Wincing and cringing at the ear-splitting intensity of it, Karryl and Bardeen clamped their hands over their ears. With blood-curdling screams of pain and rage the oncoming grelfons pointed their lizard heads towards the sky. Bat-like black wings beating furiously, they spiralled raggedly upwards, disappearing into the curtain of torrential rain. Even after they had vanished into the grey murk, Miqhal continued the piercing ululation, only ceasing when he was satisfied they were out of range. Attempting to clear his ringing ears, Karryl pinched his nose, closed his mouth and blew hard.

Shaking his head he spoke to no-one in particular. “Gods, that was intense.” He peered up into the air. “Won’t they come back?”

Miqhal shook his head. “They no longer know where they are. The call will have disorientated and confused them. They will in all probability continue upwards until altitude kills them.” He flashed the two magicians a wicked grin. “The debris will probably fall in the ocean to feed the fishes.”

Karryl shuddered and grimaced at Bardeen. “Remind me not to eat fish for the next year or so.”

The three turned towards the street. Bardeen gave a little squeak as he pointed to one of the massive corpses lying there. Its head free of ice, it glared malevolently from slanted yellow eyes, greenish black ichor oozing from its nostrils and aural cavities.

Miqhal’s voice betrayed no emotion. “It still lives but the kill-song has curdled its brain. It will die soon.”

Karryl’s lip curled with revulsion as he watched dark fluids mingle with the rain and melting ice to trickle sinuously down between the cobbles of the street.

The strong clear tones of Evalin’s voice entered his mind and he turned away.

“Karryl, something very strange has happened. Are you alright?”

“Yes. We’re fine. Shall we join you?”

Evalin’s reply was an image of a small room which Karryl recognised, across the corridor from Vailin’s office and overlooking the palace’s wide lawn. Receiving a brief nod from Miqhal and Bardeen, he gently gripped their forearms. The grelfon died in a cold and empty street.

* * *

The three magicians hurried across to the window and looked out. Two dead Grelfi and nine grelfon bodies lay strewn across the broad expanse of churned mud and huge displaced clods which had once been a well-tended lawn. The wide heavy bowl of the fountain had been snapped from its pedestal and now stood on its rim. The mangled body of another black-clad Grelfi lay pinned beneath it.

Evalin came to stand beside Karryl. “I think they were forming up for another attack. We heard this awful sound like the wailing of lost dead, then they all went into a frenzy and fell to the ground, thrashing and screaming and clawing at each other.”

Despite her normally imperturbable nature, Karryl could see she was shaken as she turned to look at him. “Was it your doing?”

Gesturing towards Miqhal who was peering intently down at the scene of devastation, Karryl shook his head “It was Miqhal. He calls it the ‘kill-song’.”

Before Evalin could reply the Jadhra warrior turned away from the window, his black eyes glistening. “One still lives. I must go down.”

As the others stared at the Jadhra, Karryl gripped his shoulders. “You can kill it from here.”

Gently twisting out of Karryl’s grip, Miqhal gave him a rigid smile of self-satisfaction. “This is something I was hoping for. I do not intend to kill it. Come with me. If this works I will explain. If it should go wrong,
then
you can kill it.”

As Miqhal headed for the door, Karryl turned worried eyes on Evalin. “Is Vailin safe?”

Evalin nodded. “He’s surrounded by armed bodyguards, in the cellars of all places.” Karryl grinned. “He’s no fool is he? That’s where I’d have gone.”

Dashing along the corridor after Miqhal, Evalin and the magicians gathered a quartet of armed guards on the way and clattered down the stairs, out onto the pathway beside what had once been a lawn. The rain had eased to a fine drizzle. The monotonous dripping of water from eaves and naked branches compounded the atmosphere of desolation.

Miqhal kept his voice low as he spoke to Karryl. “It is not my place to give orders to these warriors. Could you tell them they may despatch any grelfon that moves except the one I will approach?”

Karryl followed his gaze. “Do you want us to come with you?”

Miqhal’s eyes narrowed and he held up his hands, palms forward. “No! This is Vedric magic. It would be better if you had no part in it. Please, give the order.”

As Karryl turned to the guards, the Jadhra lifted a fold of the black fabric around his neck, and covered his mouth and nose. Eyes gleaming, he started to pick his way across the mud towards one of the fallen grelfons. Feeling a brief and metallic surge of power, Bardeen and Karryl exchanged glances with Evalin. Karryl quickly told the guards what was required. Halberds raised or swords drawn, they spread out; poised for an immediate response should anything go wrong, they all waited.

Stealthily approaching his target far to the right of the fountain, arms out-stretched to the sides, palms down-wards, in his night-black clothing Miqhal himself resembled a small slender grelfon. It was only Karryl’s sharp senses and quick thinking that averted a disaster. Some kind of sixth sense prompted him to look up. A hazy shape and slight movement caught his eye. In seconds he had cast a combination spell of binding and transportation, released it and instinctively sidestepped. A crossbow thwacked sending a bolt whistling over his left shoulder. His expression stern and unforgiving, Karryl lowered whoever he had captured, not too gently into the mud in front of him. Furious, he released the binding and allowed his captive to stand up.

Taking a step forward, Karryl hissed through his teeth. “Bowman Wyke! What in the name of D’ta do you think you were doing?”

Almost rigid with indignation, Wyke reached down and retrieved his crossbow’s bolt from the mud, flicking small clods off its leather flight.

Cradling his bow against his shoulder, he glared up at Karryl. “I had a perfect line on that bloody grelfon rider when you brought me down! What’s going on?”

With a slight shake of his head to the others who had begun to edge forward, Karryl grasped the bowman’s dark green tunic and marched him to the shelter of the door’s deep arch.

Keeping his voice low, he held his face close to Wyke’s. “That particular grelfon rider’s name is Miqhal, and he is a valuable and trusted ally. He may be doing things that seem incomprehensible, but he is under our protection. If you want to hone your skills, I suggest you get back up on the roof and watch. If any other grelfons show signs of moving then shoot. Only Miqhal and the live grelfon he is approaching are not to be harmed. If Miqhal is in any danger, he will deal with it.”

Wyke looked unrepentant. “Happen that’s as may be, but we ain’t been able to get a clear picture of quite what’s going on. I didn’t know you were all down there. I thought he were trying to sneak off.” His brow furrowed as he caressed his crossbow. “You won’t be telling Captain Vintar will you?”

Karryl shrugged. “I might. Now get back on the roof. I have things to do.”

Leaving Wyke to make his own way back to the roof, Karryl rejoined the others. Wordlessly he shook his head as Evalin raised her eyebrows in query.

The grelfon’s long, sinewy and scaled neck was stretched out, the flat tapering chin resting on the mud. Miqhal crouched beside it, one foot in front of the other. As the Jadhra warrior slowly reached out to place a hand on the huge creature’s wide scaly brow, Karryl again felt the harsh metallic frisson of Vedric magic. Hearts in mouths, guards and magicians watched and waited. The minutes passed excruciatingly by, but Miqhal remained unmoving. A group explosion of held breath and the singing of steel from scabbards heralded the first movement. Opening its yellow eyes, the grelfon cautiously lifted its head out of the mud. Karryl gritted his teeth as he heard a crossbow being cocked above him. This could all so easily go horribly wrong.

Moving his hand to the side of the creature’s neck, but not breaking contact, Miqhal slowly stood up. The Jadhra watched and waited. Ponderously, the grelfon lifted its great leathery bat-like wings off the ground and folded them one at a time across its blue-black feathered back. With Miqhal’s hand still on its neck it raised its head higher. Its greenish-yellow belly began to lift, the muscles in its thick legs flexing as it stretched its long segmented tail for balance. The broad saurian head turned, the yellow eyes watching as Miqhal moved towards its high shoulders.

Slowly it lifted a viciously clawed foot. In a heartbeat Miqhal had sprung lightly up onto its knee. From there, in a single bound the Jadhra had gained the deep cleft of its feathered shoulders. Keeping its head turned towards him, the grelfon drew itself up to its full height as Miqhal extricated a tangled light harness from beneath the feathers and sat calmly sorting it out. When he had it arranged to his satisfaction, he slipped his feet into the two long leather loops which hung down just in front of each wing. Leaning across the deep plumage, he firmly patted the side of the long sinuous neck. Yellow eyes gleaming, the massive creature faced forward. With its new rider settled confidently on its back it began to lumber across the muddy lawn towards the onlookers.

Miqhal’s triumphant voice entered Karryl’s mind. “There is nothing to fear. Jaknu is mine now. I have bonded him to me and he now comes to learn of you. Already I have learned much that is surprising from him. He is, I think your phrase is, ‘a big softy.’ ”

He chuckled, and the expression on Evalin’s face told Karryl that she too had heard.

Her eyebrows almost impossibly high, she looked at him long and hard. “I don’t believe this is happening. What use do we have for a tame grelfon?”

Karryl grinned, then threw back his head and laughed out loud as he picked up the image Miqhal had focussed on him alone.

The majority of the grelfon force had already attacked and killed on the far side of the palace. Even before Miqhal’s kill-song had reached them, the open ground overlooking the sea had become a scene of carnage. Thirteen grelfons, three soldiers and two of the palace guard now lay dead, along with a Grelfi who had committed suicide when, in a fit of justifiable rage, Magnor and Kimi the Ingalian Hill Ranger had joined forces to blast his beast from under him. Now Kimi and the two Ingali witch-women were attending to the injured. Having escaped with only a minor cut to his forehead, Captain Vintar was discussing the clean-up operation with Magnor and Agmar, thankful that for some reason the beasts had not spouted their poisonous black fluid. Fate and circumstance combined in choosing this moment for bowman Wyke to begin the process of his redemption. Catching sight of Vintar, the wiry bowman loped and stumbled across the muddy chewed-up field, his boots sucking and dragging in the mire. Quickly but cautiously he made his way around the grelfon corpses.

Wyke skidded to a halt, throwing up a hasty salute before pointing back towards the palace. “Sir! A grelfon’s been taken alive! Master Karryl has given orders it’s not to be killed!”

Having relayed his startling news, he frowned and rubbed at his chin. “Happen there’s something weird going on there.”

Vintar’s eyes traversed the field until he found the person he was looking for. He called out. “Sergeant Darke! Take charge. We’ll be back shortly.” Turning, he looked towards the palace. “Where to, Wyke?”

Calling over his shoulder, the bowman hurried off across the corpse-strewn field. “In the big fountain garden sir.”

Agmar nodded at Magnor. Moving close to Vintar, they each took an arm. Wyke had arrived at the boundary wall before he realised they weren’t behind him. The Grrybhñnös elders materialised, along with a slightly bemused Vintar, near the end wall of the palace wing, much to the consternation of a soldier who had chosen that particular moment to ease his bladder against a nearby hedge. With a grim smile and a jerk of his head to the discomfited soldier, Vintar followed the two elders round the side of the building. They stopped in their tracks, staring in disbelief at a black-clad figure astride a massive grelfon, looking in their direction.

Miqhal’s gentle thoughts filled the minds of Agmar and Magnor. “Come forward. Feel no fear. Let Jaknu recognise you. From each other you may learn much, but make haste for soon we must leave you.”

They hurried forward, Vintar close on their heels, just as the grelfon lowered its head to reveal Karryl, a wide grin on his face, standing beside its shoulder.

Stepping forward from the shelter of the doorway, Lady Evalin raised a hand in greeting. “You are just in time. To be sure, this is something not to be missed.”

While Vintar kept his distance and his hand on the hilt of his sword, Magnor and Agmar drew closer.

Karryl looked up at Miqhal. “Where can you go that will be safe for you?”

Miqhal’s dark eyes shone as he stroked the thick plumage of Jaknu’s shoulders. “We shall return to my people in the desert beyond Vedra. There he will be cared for and live the life he desires. He has a destiny, and I will help him achieve it.”

Karryl nodded then frowned. “Will you be coming back?”

Seeing Evalin and the two elders moving closer, Miqhal focussed his thought into Karryl’s mind. “I must return here for the Navigator. I will be with you after one course of the sun.”

Looking up, the Jadhra warrior called to the trio now standing rather apprehensively a long pace away from Jaknu’s head. “There is much he would have you know, but it will be necessary to touch him. A hand on his brow will be enough. Lady Evalin?”

As if seeking moral support, Evalin looked at Magnor and Agmar in turn before stepping forward to stand close beside Jaknu’s long broad head. From his perch high on the feathered shoulders Miqhal gave her a nod of encouragement. A short low crooning sound came from the grelfon’s throat as Evalin placed her left palm gently but firmly in the centre of the smooth wide brow. The communion was not prolonged, but in those few moments Karryl saw Evalin’s expression run through a whole gamut of emotions. Almost reluctantly it seemed to Karryl, she removed her hand and looked into the long yellow eyes, her own glistening with unshed tears. With a hoarsely whispered “Thank you” she stepped back to watch pensively as first Agmar and then Magnor communed silently with a creature which only a few hours ago they had been determined to destroy. The events of the next few minutes promised to severely jeopardise this new-found and as yet untested alliance.

The shot went wide, the bolt missing Jaknu by inches. It whirred over Karryl’s head, to lodge firmly in a small patch of untrampled grass beside the fountain’s pedestal. Response was immediate. The air seethed with magic as barriers were thrown up, and Miqhal calmed and assured the agitated Jaknu. All eyes scanned the extensive palace rooftops for the hidden perpetrator, swivelling to focus on a spot near the end of the balustrade. A shout went up and fingers pointed. Grunts, groans, the sound of scuffling feet and fists pummelling flesh reached the onlookers down below. A crossbow came hurtling down, its heavy stock striking an unfortunate guard and knocking him to the ground. Two green-clad figures appeared briefly before dropping out of sight. Locked in grappling combat, they fell with a clatter to the roof tiles, the clamour of their struggle carrying across the evening air. A head appeared briefly above the balustrade, snapped backwards and disappeared as a booted foot kicked high. It was not necessary for Vintar to give an order. A squad of palace guard were already sprinting towards the far end of the building, heading for the roof access.

In the space of little more than a heartbeat, Miqhal had conveyed impressions and requests to Jaknu. Infused with the glow of the Jadhra’s silent approval, Jaknu began to raise and extend his barbed black wings. Dark eyes glinting with suppressed anger, Miqhal signalled Karryl and the others to move back, leaving them scant time to get safely clear before Jaknu widened his spread. Guided by Miqhal, the grelfon lifted effortlessly into the air, rose high and swiftly circled the roof of the palace. Cruelly clawed front limbs extended, Jaknu deftly snagged a fighting man in each. Banking away, he glided overhead to touch down on his heavily muscled rear legs, holding his two squealing captives suspended five feet above the ground. As Vintar and his men ran forward, Jaknu dropped the two scrappers, shouting and squirming, into a particularly wet and well-churned patch of mud.

Hauling the two men to their feet Vintar stared at them in furious disbelief. “Bowman Wyke! Bowman Buller! There had better be a bloody good explanation for this!”

With blood oozing from a lacerated left eyebrow, Wyke did his best to glare at Buller. “There is sir. This prize idiot was trying to shoot the grelfon. I got up there just in time to queer his aim. I cussed him for a fool and he went for me.”

Jaknu stretched his long neck past Wyke’s shoulder and prodded Buller in the chest with his hard blunt snout. The bowman screamed in terror. His legs buckling, he sank to his knees, covering his head with his arms, making a pitiful figure trembling in the dirt and wet. Vintar looked down at him, his lip curled in disgust. “Get up man!”

Buller staggered to his feet, swaying as he glared first at Wyke and then at his Captain. In a sudden display of belligerence he twisted his body round. He shook both clenched fists at Miqhal and Jaknu. “Think yourselves lucky. I wouldn’t have missed!”

Karryl and Miqhal exchanged a brief glance. The young mage felt the now familiar metallic frisson. Jaknu, Miqhal and bowman Buller vanished.

Palace guards, soldiers and magicians all stood in stunned silence, then Bardeen wandered over to Karryl. “How does he do that? I didn’t think selective transference was possible.”

As Vintar moved away talking earnestly to a shaken bowman Wyke, Karryl placed a hand on Bardeen’s shoulder. “Miqhal has powers beyond any we can imagine. All I can say is, I’m very glad he’s on our side.”

He gestured towards the dead grelfons; black, misshapen mounds, slowly being swallowed by the gathering dusk. “I think we’d better go and help Magnor and Agmar clean up the mess.”