War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (41 page)

Something banged hard against the outside of the door. Karryl leapt to his feet, silently cursing himself for falling asleep. He thought he heard a scream as a resounding thud shook the heavy timber on its hinges. Another long gurgling scream mingled with deep ferocious growls was followed by a thump and a clatter. Something slid heavily down the door. Then all went quiet. Tense, Karryl waited, trying to make sense of the noise and commotion. With a tortured rasping sound the long bolts were slammed back and the heavy door thrown open as if it were no more than a garden gate. Poised to blast who or whatever into oblivion, Karryl squinted as moonlight flooded into the cell. Silhouetted against its cold light, a tall figure stood framed by the doorway.

The figure beckoned. “Shall we get going?”

The Mage-Prime’s tension released itself in a loud explosive breath. He lurched forward. “Magnor! Thank D’ta! There’s no time to lose. Ghian has Symon somewhere and Miqhal has pieces missing!”

Two seconds of stunned silence followed, before Karryl’s relief manifested itself in a fit of the giggles as he realised what he had said. Recovering quickly, he barely had time to notice the mutilated bodies of the Vedran guards and the pack of prowling blood-smeared wolves before Magnor grabbed his arm.

Up to their knees in sand near the crest of a massive dune, they looked out over the darkening city. Grimacing with the effort, Karryl hauled one foot and then the other out of the unstable mass and quickly sat down.

He grinned as Magnor settled himself beside him. “That could have been worse I suppose.”

Magnor looked disgusted. ‘‘Could have been better too. Still, there’s no harm done.’’ He gestured down towards the city. ‘‘What was that you were babbling about Miqhal? And where’s Symon?’’

Hands clasped round his knees, Karryl told the Grrybhñnös elder the whole story.

When he had finished, Magnor held out his hand. ‘‘May I see these Mirikani ‘boxes’?”

Karryl gave him a long flat look. ‘‘Don’t you think we ought to be down there trying to find Symon? And where did those wolves come from?”

Magnor gazed into the middle distance for a few seconds. ‘‘Symon is in no immediate danger, but I sense that his prison is more secure than yours and more heavily guarded. We can deal with that shortly. Then you will find out about the wolves.’’

Opening his mouth to protest, Karryl decided against it. After giving Magnor a dubious look he pulled out the soft leather pouch on its thong. Carefully he tipped the contents into the palm of Magnor’s outstretched hand.

Easing the half dozen gold-mounted Geffendrogger tusks to one side, Magnor picked up the silver ball pendant and held it out to Karryl. ‘‘I think you’d better put this back around your neck.’’

Karryl just sat and stared, then leaned forward and looked closely at the pendant. ‘‘It’s never done
that
before.’’

Holding the unusual piece of jewellery higher, Magnor also took a closer look. ‘‘Done what?’’

Karryl pointed. ‘‘The inside is spinning, and quite fast. I can see something in there, like a red jewel.’’

Before Karryl could study it further, Magnor had reached over and slipped the pendant’s silver chain over Karryl’s head. The ball’s inner latticework began to spin faster, the stone inside now clearly visible. Perfectly round and un-faceted, the colour of new blood, it bore within it tiny spots and streaks of a deep purplish grey. Karryl slipped the pendant down inside his robe, not seeing the marks swirl and shift before coalescing into a dark iris at the centre of the stone. Now in contact with the Mage-Prime’s skin, the inner lattice continued to spin, smoothly and silently.

Karryl shivered briefly as a chill breeze explored his face and neck. ‘‘Gets dark early here doesn’t it?”

His companion looked at him askance. ‘‘You have to remember you’re on the other side of the world now. It’s winter here.’’

Realisation briefly transformed the young magician’s face. After giving Magnor a sheepish grin, he turned his mind to the problem that was literally at hand.

He jabbed a finger at the tiny, silver-inlaid Mirikani boxes. ‘‘Somehow we have to get those to Miqhal. I don’t think he knows we’ve got them or that he needs them. Worse still, we don’t know where he is.”

The silver inlay glinted as Magnor turned one of the boxes over on his palm, his face unreadable planes of light and shadow. ‘‘How did you find out about these?’’

Karryl looked anxiously towards the darkened city. ‘‘Kimi put me on to it. He told me some of his people’s history involving the Mirikani. It was only when I was about to leave his hut that he presented me with the second box. That’s when I put two and two together. I don’t think they’re boxes. They’re part of the artefact that Keril’s body was guarding under Bardeen’s house.’’

Magnor finished the train of thought. ‘‘And they all have to be together in a few more hours.’’

Slipping the tiny objects back into the pouch, Magnor pulled the drawstring tight, hung the pouch round his own neck, and handed the gold-mounted tusks to Karryl. ‘‘Let’s hope we won’t need those.’’ He pushed himself to his feet, shaking sand off his robe as he looked down at Karryl. ‘‘Now I think it’s time we tried to rescue Symon.’’ He held out a restraining hand as Karryl made to stand up. ‘‘You wait here for a while. I’ll be back shortly. There’s something I have to do.’’

Nodding his understanding, Karryl briefly turned his attention to the tusks before slipping them deep into the pocket of his robe. From somewhere nearby a wolf’s long howl rode the night breeze. Karryl rose quickly to his feet and looked about him. He could see nothing but the city, a black venomous spider lying sprawled across the desert below. The wolf howled again, closer this time. An answering howl drifted faintly up from the direction of the city and Karryl’s skin crawled. Rivulets of sand slithered past his feet. He spun round to find himself staring into the yellow eyes of a large desert wolf. A small leather pouch hung round its neck.

Karryl’s only comment was ‘‘I thought you were going for a pee.’’

Stumbling and slithering, he followed the wolf down the steep slope of the dune, back towards Vedra.

* * *

With Karryl floundering awkwardly behind him through the sliding sand, Magnor-wolf located the pack gathered at the bottom of a dry wadi on the outskirts of the city. The noise of growls, yips and chittering squeals rose into the air as some of the younger pack members bickered over what remained of a couple of small furry animals. One looked suspiciously like a cat, and for a brief moment Karryl felt a twinge of nostalgia as a picture of Moonstone and a kitchen full of cats and kittens drifted into his mind. The bickering ceased as they approached.

A small female with neat black-tipped ears selected a chunk of something blood-stained and furry, stepped forward and coyly dropped the offering at Magnor’s feet. A low warning growl came from the throat of a large silver-maned wolf. Turning her head just long enough to give him an impudent stare, the she-wolf lolled her tongue and ambled back to sit down again with the pack. Fascinated, Karryl could only watch as the silver-maned wolf moved forward to touch noses with Magnor. Side by side, the two wolves dropped to their haunches, and Karryl could only guess that they were engaged in some kind of silent communion. After a few tense moments during which Karryl and the wolves warily eyed each other, Magnor stood and trotted over to where he waited. He looked up at the Mage-Prime. Karryl’s eyes slowly widened and his mouth began to drop open.

Brow furrowed in consternation he agitatedly raised both hands. ‘‘Magnor! You’re thinking in Wolf! I don’t speak Wolf! ‘‘

It was then Magnor realised at least one major limitation of the form he had taken. When he was a wolf, he could only converse in wolf. He turned away and seemed to have a brief consultation with the big silver-maned wolf before slipping off into the darkness. With some trepidation Karryl watched as the pack pressed in around him. A short while later he felt the familiar prickling of his skin, then let out a long sigh of relief as the tall figure of Magnor, barely visible in the brown-hued hunting clothes he now wore, emerged from the deep shadows.

The Grrybhñnös elder dropped to a crouch in front of Karryl. ‘‘I hadn’t thought of that.’’ He gestured towards the big silver-maned wolf. ‘‘This is Ash. We have worked out a plan of action to locate and hopefully rescue Symon, but Ash will not be involved. He’s fairly certain he can discover where Miqhal is.’’

He removed the leather pouch from round his neck and was about to slip its thong over Ash’s head when Karryl held out a restraining hand. “I almost forgot! The scroll has to go with those.”

Standing up, he fumbled inside his robe until the deep pocket was turned inside out. Slowly the glamour of matching fabric shimmered away, revealing a sheet of creased and ancient parchment. He looked at the small leather pouch and the parchment in turn, then shook his head. He was about to say something when Magnor took the parchment from his hand, folded it neatly into a little wad, slipped it into the pouch and placed it round Ash’s neck.

There was a hint of indignance in Karryl’s tone. “I thought it might crack or crumble if I folded it.”

Magnor smiled and shrugged but said nothing. The big wolf shook himself to settle the unaccustomed neckwear in place then turned to look at each member of his pack in turn.

Karryl nodded towards them. ‘‘Are they going with him?’’

Magnor shook his head as he rose to his feet. ‘‘No. If all goes according to plan they will be instrumental in Symon’s rescue. I had to make some last minute changes, but they all know what they’re expected to do.’’

‘‘What if Ash can’t find Miqhal?’’

Magnor gave him a tight smile. ‘‘Don’t worry, he will. The plan is pretty well fool-proof.’’

Not entirely convinced, Karryl watched with some misgivings as Ash, with one final glance at Magnor, loped away along the bed of the wadi. Magnor also watched until Ash was out of sight. He wondered who the big silver-maned wolf really was.

Returning his gaze to the black bulk of the city, Karryl voiced the question which had troubled him long enough. ‘‘So, how are we going to find Symon?’’

Magnor chuckled. ‘‘Easy. We do a joint spell of locating. But let’s get onto higher ground first.’’

The wolf pack following close behind, the two magicians scrambled up the side of the wadi, trudging their way through the sand until they stood near the ridge of a broad high dune overlooking the city.

Magnor looked around. ‘‘We should be far enough away from Ghian’s shielding for our magic to work. In theory, when the spell hits a barrier it will probably be a shielded area, and that’s where we’ll look.’’

Before Karryl could respond, lights began to flare in the centre of the city. Bobbing and flickering they sped through the dark streets, a whirl of yellow spattering across a black canvas. Steadily they began to converge on the east quarter, shouts of alarm drifting up on the breeze to where Karryl and Magnor watched.

Tugging Karryl’s sleeve Magnor pulled him down into a crouch beside him. ‘‘Seems they’ve discovered you got tired of their hospitality.’’

Karryl kept his voice low. ‘‘I don’t think they like what was left behind either.’’

Suddenly, as one the wolf-pack rose to their feet, fur bristling, lips drawn back over teeth in a dozen silent snarls. Gesturing towards them, Magnor whispered a few words. Karryl’s skin prickled as one by one the wolves vanished from sight. All he could see was moonlit sand.

He turned his attention back to the activity below. ‘‘What have you done with them?’’

Magnor grunted. ‘‘Nothing. It’s only a glamour. They’re still here. They won’t move until I dispel it. Now, are you in dark-sight? If not, do it now. I think we’re going to...’’

A high-pitched ululating scream of pure malice splintered the Vedran air. Magnor dropped flat. A split second later Karryl did the same. Magnor murmured; Karryl’s skin prickled. They lay still. More voices joined until the air trembled with their blood-chilling clarion. Heavy wing-beats thumped low overhead, sand spiralling in the downdraught as a murder of grelfons searched the cold dunes and dark shadowed hollows. The ground beneath the two magicians shuddered and shook. Sand slid past their faces, heavy footfalls pounded to a halt behind them. Karryl tried not to be sick. The grelfon’s scream assaulted their eardrums, its nauseating stench violating their nostrils and lungs. Moments later it launched itself into the air, its huge wings pounding a reverberating bass drumbeat. Safe beneath Magnor’s swiftly laid glamour the two magicians lay hardly daring to breathe as they listened to the gradually fading sound of the grelfon’s wings.

Its integrity weakened by the sudden and unaccustomed weight, without any warning the side of the dune collapsed. With the hiss of a hundred snakes the sand-slide dumped Karryl and Magnor in the hollow at the base of an adjoining dune. For a few moments Karryl lay still, every nerve jangling in expectation of the grelfons’ return. Hearing nothing, he cautiously lifted his head and opened his eyes. There were no dark shapes soaring overhead, and no sign of Magnor or the wolf pack. Karryl shifted into dark-sight, barely managing to stifle a cry of surprise at what it revealed. About thirty feet away a dozen pale lilac-hued shapes lay clustered together on the sand. He belly crawled until he was almost on top of them, then shifted back to normal sight. He could no longer see them. The glamour over the pack was holding. With a sigh of relief he pushed himself upright, wrapped his arms round his knees and settled to watch the frantic activity going on below.