War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (18 page)

It would have cost the magician little effort to walk the comparatively short distance from his house up to the palace precincts, but he preferred that his movements remain un-noticed as much as possible. Although the sky was clear and the evening was calm and cold, the season of frosts was more or less over and Bardeen almost relished the thought of travelling in, what were for him, ideal conditions. He materialised unseen, not far from the perimeter of the palace grounds, and began the short walk to his destination. Despite the robes which signified his status as master magician he was twice challenged by palace guards.

On both occasions he received an apology, although the second pair of guards insisted on escorting him to the door of the Ingali hill-ranger’s little stone-built hut. “These are nervous times sir” one of the guards told him. “It’s likely there’s another War of Power brewing and our orders are to be suspicious of any strangers. I’m sure you understand.”

Having received the magician’s assurances that he did indeed understand, the guards resumed their patrol.

As the wiry hill ranger opened his door, the magician held out his hand. “My name is Bardeen. Although you don’t know me I nevertheless have a great favour to beg of you concerning Master Karryl.”

Kimi glanced at Bardeen’s cap and robe before briefly grasping the out-stretched hand. “Come in to my house. There we can talk.”

Kimi’s one sparsely furnished room was extremely basic and not designed for entertaining. The single straight-backed wooden chair was allocated to Bardeen while Kimi sat cross-legged on the one rug which occupied a small area of the bare board floor in front of the thin-mattressed, iron-framed bed.

Kimi folded his hands. “Explain please, your wish to find me and the favour you request.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the magician, Kimi listened intently as the plan was outlined.

Bardeen had barely finished before the Ingali hill ranger spoke. “This can be done, but to travel to Ingalia is not necessary. I much regret that I did not bring this with me, but it is possible to craft here what is needed. A plant I must find.”

Bardeen leaned forward, his interest aroused.”What kind of plant?”

Kimi rested his hands on his knees. “In my country, in the deep jungles below the mountains it can be found. Many creatures fight for it as the young shoots are a delicacy.”

Bardeen threw up his hands in exasperation. “So we
will
have to go to Ingalia!” Kimi gave him a withering glance. “Have already said, not necessary. This plant also grows in your land, but rare. We must search. Tonight I will weave and cast locating spell.” He stood up and crossed to the door. “Please to return here after sunrise. Then we will go.”

Without further ado the door was opened and Bardeen hurried out. Bidding the ranger a hasty “Goodnight” he stood on the path and watched the door close firmly behind him.

* * *

The next morning a miserable grey fog leaned heavily on the window, and Bardeen surveyed it with mild distaste. Its unwelcome presence meant he would have to walk. Any magician who attempted dematerialisation in thick fog was definitely asking for trouble. It was all about mixing his own molecules with an indeterminate and certainly excessive quantity of water molecules. The majority of works available concerning the history of magic contained well documented and often very graphic accounts of magicians who had come to grief through ignoring this basic tenet. Bardeen had only just taken up the reins of his old life, and he had no intention of allowing himself to be reduced to a glutinous and irrecoverable wet mass which could only gurgle in terror during the final few minutes it took to die. Reaching down his hooded cloak from the peg in the hall, the magician opened the door. The salt tang of the nearby ocean drifted sluggishly in, borne on opportunist tendrils of fog. Raising his hood, the magician grimaced before he stepped out into its damp embrace and closed the door slowly behind him.

Kimi was waiting at the end of the path, a dark shape barely visible through the thick fog as Bardeen approached. The hill ranger glanced quickly past him before touching a hand to his chest in greeting. “Good day Master Bardeen.”

Bardeen gestured off into the fog. “Do you think this weather is going to cause us any problems?”

Kimi placed his palms together, a shadow of regret flickering in his dark eyes. “None more than the one we have. I fear that the spell has shown me nothing. It is possible that the plant we seek is not here.”

A sinking sensation made its way from Bardeen’s chest and settled in the pit of his stomach. For a long moment he stared at Kimi, fighting down a brief wave of panic as he underwent the unfamiliar sensation of struggling to collect his thoughts.

The Ingali returned the magician’s look of deep concern. “I will cast the spell again. It is not yet necessary that we travel to my people. The time would be best used searching, not in travelling.”

Bardeen gave him a tight little smile which was quickly replaced by a frown. He tilted his head to one side. “Can you draw this plant for me, or at least tell me what it looks like?”

Kimi thought for a moment then gave a little nod. “I have no skill in making likenesses. Perhaps if I tell you of its appearance, you may do this?”

His eyes once more alive with hope Bardeen gripped the hill ranger’s shoulder. “This we can do, but I need materials. Do you have anything?”

When Kimi shook his head, Bardeen pointed back through the slowly thinning fog. “Then are you free to accompany me to my dwelling? I have the necessary materials there.”

Wordlessly Kimi motioned him to lead on. As they set off for the long walk through the barracks area and the palace precincts, Bardeen gave a wry smile. “If we do not have the plant, at least we will have its portrait.”

Perplexed, the hill ranger turned to him and frowned. “In what way will this assist us?”

Bardeen raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “As yet I have absolutely no idea; but we shall see. Of that I am quite certain.”

Their progress obscured by the grey blanket of gently writhing fog, they were able to return unnoticed to Bardeen’s house. As they approached the door Kimi stepped quickly in front of the magician and stopped. Facing the door, the leather-and-fur clad ranger raised his arms slightly, palms upwards. Softly he uttered a series of melodic lilting phrases.

Lowering his hands, he turned to Bardeen. “A blessing on your home has been asked of Ramnor-kudani-te.”

Bardeen replied with a respectful nod. “I am honoured.”

A brief gesture opened the door and the magician led the way inside and down the hall to the welcoming warmth of the kitchen. From a drawer in the dresser, Bardeen took a sheet of yellowed paper and smoothed it out on the table.

He looked at Kimi. “I’m hoping this will work. It’s a long time since I’ve used this method, but if it works it will save us a lot of time and trouble.”

Kimi looked puzzled. “With what will you make the likeness?”

Bardeen smiled. “Place your forefinger on the paper, close your eyes and see the plant in your mind. Don’t let your finger leave the paper.”

Two minutes later the sheet of paper and most of the whitewood table-top were covered by a large and very realistic image of a plant which looked to Bardeen like a tall thick-stemmed grass. Gently he moved Kimi’s finger from the paper, placed his own hand on the drawing, and cast the locating spell.

He smiled as a familiar scene drifted into his mind. “Kimi, we have found it!”

The Ingali ranger nodded his satisfaction. “It is to be hoped it will not be too difficult to reach.”

Bardeen chuckled and pointed towards the window. “It is out there, at the back of my own house in that tangle of trees and shrubs. You and I are going gardening, my friend!”

The sun had barely risen, the dark shadows of the massive sweeping dunes still cold. Harnessed to his grelfon queen, Ghian had led the hunting flight out over the black oppressive walls of the city. Three Grelfi and nine beasts had followed their imperious lord, sweeping low across the vast expanse of wind-sculpted inconstant sand, eyes searching for the slightest sign or movement that would betray the presence of their quarry. Vedra lay far behind them as they flew in ever widening circles, swift and silent, until the merciless sun approaching its zenith forced their return to the shadowed confines of the city. Sensing his anger and frustration, Ghian’s grelfon queen hissed and fidgeted as he unharnessed her, following his every move with her slanted acid-yellow eyes. Leaving her to make her own way down to the noisome underground cavern which was her stable, Ghian threw the tangled harness to the ground. With a savage glare at the riders he strode furiously out of the arena.

The Grelfi busily tended to their own, ever fractious, beasts, exchanging glances of disgust tempered with undisguised relief. For the second time in as many days they had escaped the cruel punishments they had so fearfully anticipated. Loosening the constraints of his leather body-armour, one of the riders gathered up the discarded harness. Checking that his leader was out of sight, he leaned against the arena wall.

As his two fellow riders moved across to join him in the narrow strip of welcome shade the wall provided, he spat contemptuously onto the sand. “I think himself won’t be dishing out too many more punishments for a while.”

One of his companions took a long swig from a water-skin before handing it round. “Why’s that then Malek? I thought that was his favourite pastime.”

Malek held up the harness and shook it for emphasis. “Because if he goes on the way he has been there won’t be enough of us left. He won’t rest until he’s routed out Miqhal and every one of his tribe. Powerful as he is, he can’t do that on his own.”

The others nodded their agreement, then the youngest of the trio turned to Malek and frowned. “Miqhal always struck me as a straight enough bloke. I can’t see why him and Lord Ghian had to fall out. After all, there was hardly a day went by when Miqhal wasn’t close on his heels.”

Malek straightened the last strap and draped the harness over his arm. “Because, Khalim, the Jadhra turned out to be a thief. He stole something that Lord Ghian needs, that is vital to his power, then scarpered back to his tribe of desert skulkers.” He gave a mirthless grin. “Not that I blame him. This whole place is going to the dogs.” He spat on the ground again. “Still, from what I hear, it won’t be for much longer. Now let’s get these beasts stabled. They might not need to eat today but I do.”

The other Grelfi stepped in front of him and stood, muscular legs braced. A contemptuous sneer twisted his thin black lips while one hand strayed to the shank of the whip coiled at his belt. “What d’you mean Malek, it won’t be for much longer? You planning on going somewhere?”

Malek held up a hand, his mouth tight with exasperation. “You weren’t listening Shaak. I wasn’t talking about just me. Something’s due to happen soon. Before it does, Lord Ghian’s got to find Miqhal’s camp and get back whatever it is he’s stolen. When he’s got that, then by all accounts the great god Zo’ad will return in person and change all our lives forever. Then there won’t be any need for grelfons. We can have wives and brats again without living in dread of the day when the priests turn up at the door. That’s all I’m saying.”

Malek gave Shaak a sidelong glance, secretly envying his short curved fangs, sleek body fur and golden slit-irised eyes. He had been told that Shaak was a ‘regressive’, a throw-back to the dreadful days of the ‘Siance Lords’, evil men who served the great god by experimenting on living creatures. Their only real success in those far off days had been the grelfons, but the many Vedran women who basked in the kudos of being associated with the Lords, had frequently borne grotesquely abnormal offspring. Rejected and disowned, these teratoid, sometimes barely human creatures were immediately abandoned at the door of the temple. Taken in by the priestesses, those loveless spawn that survived were raised in the confines of the temple and its precincts. Taught the coarse Vedran soldiers’ tongue, they learned that not only were they special, but also that they would have to fight for anything they wanted.

Whether by accident or design, a major factor common to every one of them decided their future, and was in all probability instrumental in ensuring they were kept alive. Without fail, the ‘Uglies’, an appellation of which they were fiercely proud, had a natural affinity with the creatures from whose development they originally sprang; the grelfons.

The tension eased visibly from Shaak’s lean body. He grunted and turned to look in the direction of the temple, its high dark outline barely visible beyond the long streets of heavy lowering buildings.

A lascivious smirk crossed his face as he returned his gaze to his black-clad fellow riders. “That can’t come too soon. There was a time when the women couldn’t get enough of us Grelfi. Now the few that’s left only want to spend all their time in the temple in the hope that they’ll be bedded by Lord Ghian.” He grinned at Malek and gave him a broad wink. “It’s getting that bad even you’re beginning to look a bit tasty.”

Malek responded with a long flat stare. “Perhaps Lord Ghian would be interested to know you’re feeling that way. I’ve heard he’s not bothered whether it’s a skirt or a shirt he lifts.”

Shaak glared balefully at Malek before spitting in the sand at his feet, then stormed off to catch up with his grelfon which had grown tired of waiting and was making its own lumbering way towards the dark tunnel which led down to its stable. Their arms full of harness, Malek and Khalim sauntered after their own grelfons who had followed on, men and beasts thankful to be out of the searing afternoon heat and in the comparative cool of the narrow tunnel. When Shaak returned from stabling his grelfon, Khalim was nowhere to be seen and Malek was dozing in the back of the dry cellar which served as their equipment room.

* * *

Ghian had summoned the high priestess Andra and five of his most devoted high priests to the temple. Assembled in front of the massive blood encrusted altar, they had assisted him in a long and solemn ritual calculated to elicit the aid of their dark god Zo’ad. Even though the object of their worship had, as usual, failed to show any sign that their pleas had been heard, Ghian was supremely confident it would simply be a matter of time before they would be answered. The Jadhrahin would not elude him again. Instructing the priests to conduct the evening’s ceremony in his absence, he returned to his quarters to prepare for what he was convinced would be a successful last hunt. Tomorrow he intended to witness the culmination of everything he had worked and even suffered for.

Despite the physical and mental drain of the rituals in the temple, Ghian was unable to enter the restorative oblivion of sleep. Incensed, he lay on his bed, gazing unseeing at the ceiling. This second failure to discover the location of the devious and elusive Jadhrahin had destroyed both his carnal appetite and his appetite for food. The impulse to bring forward the plan which had fired him so effectively the previous night, quickly over-rode his rising anger at such personal physical weakness.

His mouth twisting with malevolent gratification, he recalled how he had forced Andra to regret her strongly voiced objections. The possibility that she would continue to protest, making it necessary to impress upon her once again the efficacy of his plans, began to have a positive effect on his libido, further adding to his resolve. Taking a few deep breaths he allowed his baser instincts to subside before rising quickly off the bed and striding across the room to examine the details of the lunar calendar. Ghian could have curbed his impatience, held it in check until the time of the astral conjunction, but all his lusts were overshadowed by that for even greater powers than those he already possessed. Patience was no longer one of his attributes. Inflamed by eagerness to implement his plan, he fought to think objectively. Standing perfectly still, he spoke in harsh guttural tones the words which would instantly transport him to a dark and distant part of the city. Among those ancient abandoned buildings, wreathed in the distant echoes and shadows of a time long forgotten, dwelt those whose dubious support he needed yet whose maleficence he feared above all else; the Wraiths.