War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (16 page)

The workman grinned widely as he clicked the latch and pushed open the door. “If that’s the ‘ardest thing I hever ‘ave to do it’ll be an easy life. Wait there Master Magician and I’ll fetch ‘im.”

Using the short time he had to wait to advantage, Miqhal was completely relaxed and fully prepared when the chapman peered round the door. His face brightened as he caught sight of Miqhal. “Well I never! I thought the fellow was having me on!”

He practically danced out into the street, pulling the door to behind him. Making a leg, the chapman flourished a deep bow which set his coat skirts flapping and the tokens on his broad-brimmed hat jingling.

Straightening up, he spread his arms wide. “How can this humble pedlar be of assistance to one so esteemed as yourself, Master?”

Miqhal took a step forward, his hands still inside his sleeves. “I am in need of a small piece of copper or a piece of ivory to complete a spell I am devising. Do you have such a thing?”

Although he never used material spell components himself, Miqhal knew that certain magicians did. He was certain his ploy wouldn’t arouse the chapman’s suspicion. The chapman chuckled delightedly and began to rummage inside the deep canvas satchel slung across his shoulder. Miqhal moved a step closer, his enhanced sense of smell picking up the piquant aroma of the poison. While the chapman searched in his bag, Miqhal searched in the chapman’s mind. What he found only served to confirm what he had begun to suspect earlier. The man had no memory of the evil deed he had done, and Miqhal would not kill an innocent man. The shadow of the implanted suggestion which still lurked inside his brain would do that within a few days, as it grew and drove him mad.

Beaming with success, the chapman held out his open hand. Miqhal reached out and picked up the two small objects that lay there. As he did so he allowed the tip of a finger to touch the edge of the man’s open palm. It was enough. Eyes wide, his face still beaming, the chapman was caught in a second of time which moved neither forward or back. It took Miqhal another second to remove the reed pipe from the pedlar’s pocket, and less than that to realise this was not the weapon he sought. Sending the retrieval spell deeper, he was rewarded by the appearance of another reed pipe. Almost identical to the first, this one lacked the stops which allowed nimble fingers to produce music. Lowering it to the ground, Miqhal thought it quite probable that the chapman was unaware he even had the thing in his pocket. His mouth twisting as he caught the bitter-sweet tang of the poison, he made a brief gesture and the deadly pipe vanished. Resuming his position he restored the pedlar to real time and examined the tiny copper ring and small ivory comb he had taken from his hand.

Although he did not want the items he agreed to buy them, nodding as if well satisfied. “These will be most suitable. I thank you for your trouble.”

Dropping the purchases in his pocket of his robe he produced a large silver coin and handed it to the chapman. “Will this be considered fair?”

The chapman tried the coin between his teeth. With a wink at Miqhal he dropped it into a pouch at his waist. From the same pouch he produced a smaller silver coin which he handed to Miqhal. “I would not rob you Master Magician. The coin you gave me would buy those trinkets twice over.”

Miqhal looked at the coin, then at the chapman. Briefly their eyes met. In that instant the Jadhra had seen the spirit within. He felt regret that such a harmless and amiable character would soon be cruelly deprived of his life, simply because he had been the unwitting tool of those for whom it had little value. He had the power to prevent it happening if the chapman would allow him to, and he was certain he had discovered the ideal way to do it.

As he slipped the coin into his pocket he looked at the man from under his eyebrows. “The pains in your joints; they trouble you greatly?”

The chapman nodded ruefully. “They do indeed, especially this time of year. It’s being out on the road in all weathers that does for ‘em y’know.” He frowned. “How did you…? Ah! Of course, you’re a magician. You would know.”

Miqhal gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgement. “If you will permit me I can relieve you of the discomfort, as reward for your honesty and good service.”

The chapman nodded, his eyes sparkling. “That would be most welcome. What do I have to do? Take a potion or something?”

Miqhal held out a hand. “Nothing like that. Please, stand completely still and close your eyes. You will feel my fingers touching you on every joint and perhaps a little warmth. That is all.”

The chapman closed his eyes and Miqhal began. Firmly and methodically he touched each joint in turn from the ankles upward, finding what he was looking for just below the nape of the pedlar’s neck. The shadow had already begun its insidious progress from his brain into his body.

Miqhal placed a hand on the man’s forehead. “Please, keep your eyes closed but open your mouth a little.”

The chapman frowned slightly but did as he was asked. Keeping his hand in place, Miqhal directed a small amount of power into the man’s brain. The Jadhra watched with satisfaction as the deadly shadow’s tendrils drifted sinuously out of the chapman’s mouth and nostrils, to be destroyed instantly by the clean pure touch of the icy air.

Miqhal removed his hand. “It is done. The discomfort in your joints will return eventually, but not for many years.”

After flexing his knees and elbows and discovering that he was indeed pain free, the chapman caught hold of Miqhal’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you! I reckon I got the best of that bargain and no mistake. ‘Tis a pity you can’t join me for a tot of rum, but don’t worry. I’ll be sure to mention you wherever I travel. Goodnight to you Master Magician and thank you once again.”

Releasing Miqhal’s hand he turned away and strode nimbly back into the tavern. He would have forgotten the entire incident by the morning. Miqhal had made sure of that.

Midnight was not far away. Accompanied by Jobling and a small squad of armed bodyguards, King Vailin made his way down to the already partially restored fountain garden. A stiff breeze had sprung up and dispelled the last wisps of high cloud, allowing the moon to shed its light on the scene below.

As Vailin moved into the shelter of the porch wall one of the guards pointed. “Up there sire!”

The king looked up and watched as five dark shapes crossed the moon’s half-formed face. Winging smoothly down, they hovered high above the garden, their massive spread casting deep shadows on the moonlit ground, before gliding down to land in a rushing waft of broad back-beating wings. His heavy woollen cloak pulled close around him, Vailin stepped forward. Respectfully, the five Lammergeyers dipped their heads at his approach, Ekha moving forward until she and Vailin were within touching distance. Although unable to converse with Ekha in mind-speech, he knew she would still understand him if he spoke normally.

The young monarch looked up into her fearsomely noble face as he unfolded a small sheet of parchment. “This note was left for me by the Lady Evalin who cannot be present. The reason will soon become clear.”

After snatching Karryl to safety, Evalin had written the note while in Arinel, and left it for Vailin on her brief return. The young king tried in vain to keep the tremor out of his voice as he read the note, which he had already read half a dozen times. This was the first time out loud. The reaction of the great birds to the message was not what Vailin had expected. They simply glanced at each other, dipped their heads slightly and stayed put. Uncertain as to what else to do after such a stunning anti-climax, Vailin folded the note and gathered his cloak round him.

He looked up once again into Ekha’s face. “The two magicians Miqhal and Bardeen will be here shortly. They…”

He didn’t have chance to finish what he was about to say. The ringing whine of steel leaving scabbards accompanied the sudden appearance of those very two from the deep shadows at the far end of the garden.

Calling to his men to sheathe their swords, Captain Vintar turned to Vailin. “With your permission Your Majesty, we’ll give them a hand and get this done as quickly as possible.”

With a brief nod, Vailin moved away as the birds turned towards the new arrivals. The pair made a strange sight. Roughly a pace in front of them and the same distance above the ground floated a dark rectangular object about the size of a small picnic hamper. Their faces set in concentration, the two magicians followed, carrying the large woven withy basket between them. Above the rim of the basket the upper half of a large dark cone-shaped object could be seen. Behind them, tail high in the air, strolled Moonstone. Having placed the basket carefully on the ground and settled the box close beside it, Miqhal and Bardeen stood side by side gazing at the huge birds.

Folding his arms, Miqhal turned to his fellow magician. “They bear some slight resemblance to the Vuqhlari, but these make those carrion eaters seem puny. I wonder which one is Ekha.”

Karryl’s bond-bird stepped forward and glared, not at Miqhal’s face but at his feet. The Jadhra looked down. Moonstone had sat down just in front of Miqhal’s toes.

With his neck stretched back as far as it would go, he was giving Ekha the full benefit of his mismatched eyes.
“The bird says that the Vuqhlari are in fact distant cousins, and thanks you for the compliment. The one in front of you is Ekha.”

Miqhal nodded. “Good. Then we shall proceed.”

With her head on one side Ekha peered with one large ruby-tinted eye into the basket. His tail bristling, Moonstone moved rather stiff-leggedly to the far side of it.
“The bird says that the basket is not big enough, but thinks I am just the right size for a tasty snack. I trust you will not allow this to happen.”

Miqhal turned and looked at the big tortoiseshell. “Perhaps I could do for you the same as I intend to do to the basket, but in your case it is unlikely to prove much of a deterrent.”

Moonstone flicked his, now very bushy, tail.
“And what do you mean to do with the basket?”

Miqhal’s answering grin shone white in the moonlight. “I am going to treble its size. However, I feel that in your case this would merely advance you from snack to main course. I do not advise it.”

Moonstone sniffed.
“Then I shall remove myself from the scene. I have no desire to waste my remaining seven lives in the craw of some ridiculously oversized bird. You will have to make do with hand signals.”

Leaving no chance for any further argument the distinctly ruffled cat bounded away into the dark safety of the shrubbery which bordered the large garden.

With a nod to Bardeen, Miqhal reached into the basket, and the two magicians lifted out the large artefact, placing it gently on the ground. While Bardeen stood to one side Miqhal moved the basket some distance away into a clear space. A brief hand gesture and a few seconds were sufficient. Now at least three times its original size, the suitably modified basket was dragged across the trampled grass and placed in front of the waiting Lammergeyers.

Miqhal was about to place the dark grey-wrapped box inside when Bardeen held up a restraining hand. “Perhaps a practice flight might be advisable in case other modifications are required.”

A smug voice entered Miqhal’s mind
. “She says it will not be necessary.”
Sidling out from behind Bardeen, the big tortoiseshell cat looked up at Miqhal
. “The bird has apologised for her indiscretion, and expressed her wish that I continue to render my most valuable assistance. The group have devised a flight plan and request that you place the objects in the basket.”

Not wishing to delay proceedings any further, Miqhal relayed Moonstone’s message to Bardeen while placing the box at one end of the basket. The two magicians then lifted the large cone-shaped artefact and lay it down with its tip towards the centre, its broad heavy base serving to counterbalance the weight of the box. From around his waist Miqhal unwound a wide black sash. With the long length of fabric folded in half he draped it lengthwise over the artefacts, ensuring its edges were secure and that the artefacts concealed beneath it were stable. The Jadhra warrior then stepped lightly across the grass to stand before King Vailin.

Quickly touching fingers to forehead, lips and chest, Miqhal gave a brief but respectful bow of his head. “Majesty, my task here is done. Deeply I regret that which has befallen Master Karryl. I have located the assailant and ensured that he will be of no further threat.”

From the pocket of his robe he produced a small folded piece of parchment and a tiny black pouch. He handed them to the young king. “Master Karryl has succumbed to a poison of Vedran origin, drawn from a small but deadly serpent that dwells in the deserts of Naboria. It may well be that Master Karryl’s power has prevented the poison from taking full effect. This is the only known antidote and an instruction to the Lady Evalin as to how it should be administered.”

Vailin looked down at the pouch and the note in his hand. “We are most grateful, although getting this to Lady Evalin may be a problem.” Giving a wry grimace he looked Miqhal squarely in the eye. “Nevertheless we will find a way. I feel privileged to have met you Miqhal. I hope that if our paths cross again it will be in more pleasurable circumstances.”

Miqhal’s dark eyes glinted. “That is a wish I will also carry in my heart, Majesty. Now I must take my leave. Master Bardeen has full knowledge of what has been planned and will answer any further questions you may have. May your house prosper and your flocks increase.”

Taking two paces backwards he once again touched his fingers to forehead, lips and chest and made a short bow. He then turned and made a similar gesture to Bardeen and the Lammergeyers. The air round him swirled and spiralled in bands of blue shot through with silver, and he was gone.

With a vigorous pumping of their massive wings, two of the great birds launched themselves mightily into the air. In another impressive display of precision flying they drifted down to hover, one at each end of the large basket. Heavily plumaged legs outstretched, the birds extended their long curved talons. Each grasping a thick twisted osier handle they beat powerfully upwards with their valuable cargo, escorted by their three companions.

Buffeted by the tremendous draught from the birds’ giant wings, Vailin, Bardeen and the guards watched, hearts in mouths as the Lammergeyers rose swiftly into the moonlit sky. Higher and higher they flew until they appeared no larger than sparrows silhouetted against the moon’s pale half-disc. Then, to a collective gasp from the watchers below, they vanished. A single gold-flecked, dark brown feather drifted gently down through the cold still air to land near Bardeen’s feet. The old magician picked it up and wordlessly handed it to his king. Taking it as though it was the most precious of gifts, Vailin nodded and turned towards the door, beckoning Bardeen and the others to follow.

King Vailin II was not a great believer in coincidences, especially fortuitous ones, but he began to have serious doubts in his beliefs when Bardeen offered a simple solution to the problem of letting Lady Evalin know they were in possession of an antidote. Not trusting to addresses and landmarks, the magician had told Vailin he had a better idea and so was sent on his way with the antidote securely packaged, a hastily penned letter for Lady Evalin, and his king’s blessing.

As a young man, newly qualified as a Master Magician, Bardeen had visited Arinel more than once to spend some time absorbing the awe-inspiring splendour of its mountain ranges. He knew the layout of the land. Consequently, less than seven hours after Miqhal had handed over the note and the pouch, the old magician materialised on a breezy heather-clad hillside. There he sat to wait, and watch the sun rise from behind Bolduin, Arinel’s ethereally beautiful capital city. He had no idea of where Evalin lived; only that he was in the right area. Opening his mind Bardeen took in the vista below him, appreciative of the way the sun’s first rays struck the tall spires and smooth shining domes of the city’s numerous temples. A time or two he let his thoughts drift to the priceless contents of the messenger packet inside his robe before re-focussing on Bolduin’s elegant sprawl, settled at the feet of the Mountains of Runamaur. It seemed to him not unlike a great white and silver butterfly.

The voice, touched with humour, came from behind him. “‘Tis to be hoped then that it doesn’t decide to fly away, Master Bardeen.”

The old magician stood, turned around and bowed low to Lady Evalin. “Thank goodness!” He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I must apologise for my short-comings. Unfortunately my powers are restricted to sending only, in which I appear to have had a modicum of success.”

Smiling warmly, Evalin took his hand. “Indeed you have. Now let us leave this draughty hillside and discover whether your efforts have been worthwhile. Are you prepared?”

Bardeen nodded. The air shimmered, and the breeze rustled through the tufty clumps of heather on the empty hillside.