Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (28 page)

'You rudely disturbed my presence, General.' His voice echoed from the surrounding building. 'This is a place of peace and tranquillity, yet you barge through, entering my presence like a swarm of angry bees.' The warrior trembled slightly as the Emperor circled, stroking the lemon with long lacquered nails as if in deep concentration. 'However, you come with welcome news, so how should I react?' Stopping in front of the warrior, the Emperor gazed up into the face of the taller man and, reaching out, lifted his chin. The General closed his eyes and swallowed; yet dared not pull away. To look directly into the face of the Emperor would surely mean death and eternal pain. 'I shall offer you a present,' he offered the lemon, 'and ask that, in future, you enter with a little more… grace.' The warrior took the proffered fruit his eyes still managing not to look directly at his Lord. 'You have done well, you may eat… eat it all.'

Without thought or complaint the warrior bit into the lemon and chewed. By the third bite, his eyes were watering, and the nerves in his face were betraying the tart sourness of the fruit, yet he continued to chew, juice dribbling down his chin to drip upon his armour cutting bright trails through the dust.

'For one such as you, a mortal man, the lemon is very beneficial. Would you like me to pick a second for you?' The warrior did not reply but instead took another large bite. 'I shall join our forces at first light. Make camp upon arrival. Do not attack. Do not communicate with the enemy… finish your lemon.'

The general crammed the remaining part of the lemon in his mouth and with eyes streaming, managed to chew and swallow without gagging. 'Go General, your Emperor is pleased.' With another firm salute, the warrior backed away and then, spinning on his heels, strode towards the door.

'So now we come to gather souls across the Great Expanse.' The Emperor watched his General leave. 'How interesting.' Gathering his robes in clenched fists, he shuffled towards the door, the fish now forgotten. The anticipation of collecting more souls for his crystal driving away the feeling of apathy that had previously so overcome him, once more he felt motivated and eager to move on. Upon entering the palace complex he called for his valet, 'Bring me my armour, bring me my weapons, it is time once again to reap a fine harvest.'

* * *

The return to Deniah was swift and without incident. The crew arrived some distance from the city amid the cold bare branches of an apple orchard so as not to cause alarm. They were chilled but in good spirits, happy to be back again and able to return at least two of the stolen skulls. Stamping feet and swinging their arms to bring some circulation back, they offered their thanks to
The Griffin
before sending her on her way. They were cold, wet and weary, and the final walk back towards the high walls of the city turned into a mostly silent slog. Even Pardigan had stopped his incessant chattering, preferring to push on through the mud and into the city.

It was mid-morning, the rain had ceased, the sun was trying hard to break through the low scattering of clouds and at some time during their travels the midwinter feast had been celebrated and, although not warm, there was the promise of spring in the air. The rain, wind and frosts of winter had driven all the old brown leaves from the branches, and now the first green buds of the new season were starting to show on the apple trees.

'I'll be glad to get to Dhurban and feel some warmth on my back,' muttered Quint. 'I know I'll be moaning about sand in my teeth, but I'm going to try and hold onto the memory of cold and wet, wet and cold and then smile as I bake!'

Mahra shuddered as a gust of wind rocked them on their feet. 'Let's just give the skulls to King Hugo and move on as fast as we can. I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but cats do not like to be cold or wet and it feels that's the way I've been for so very long. Oh, no…' she stopped and tried to free her boot that had become stuck in a patch of deep mud. 'Oh, Quint, help me will you?' She began to make frustrated mewing sounds as she struggled. Quint and Tarent both moved over to her and grabbed an arm each to help while the others trudged on.

The outer city of Deniah was its normal bustling self. Pardigan bought clay mugs, filled to the brim with hot soup from the first small eatery they came to and handed them over to the others as they came limping in helping the shivering Mahra. It was thick, hot, and none of them really cared to know what it was made from, but it renewed their energy and a short while later they were able to walk through Lion's gate and into the city to present themselves at the palace.

'Thank the Source, you have all returned!' As the bedraggled group were ushered into the throne room, King Hugo Payne leapt to his feet, his smile expressing his relief at seeing them.

'Sire,' Magician Falk approached the throne and went down on one knee in front of his monarch; the King drew him up and embraced him.

'Silas, my old friend! Seeing you safe and back at my side gives me hope for the tasks ahead of us. He greeted the others and bade them all join him at some chairs clustered about a roaring log fire. 'What news do you bring? We have heard nothing for many days… will Morgasta, and her Barbarians be attacking from the North?' He leaned forward; worry returning to his face as he waited for Magician Falk to reply.

'Our friends here are indeed angels of the Source, your Majesty. We managed to block the pass, there will be no invaders from the north.'

The King leant back and let out a sigh. 'Thank you Silas, thank you all. The Realm is in your debt. And did you manage to locate the skulls? There has been unrest in Sterling Port for several days. We kept their theft a secret for as long as possible, but word is now out and the people fear for our future.'

Pardigan lifted the sack he had brought into the room and placed it at the King's feet, but before he could say anything, Elisop came forward, bowing and wringing his hands as he simpered, 'Your Majesty, my loyal helpers and I battled through the streets of both Bedlam and Mayhem. Infiltrated the palace of Morgasta, and finally entered the deepest confines of the Chaos temple in Mayhem. It is my deep pleasure to return these two magnificent skulls to you.' He backed away still wringing his hands and making small squeaky simpering sounds then fell over, thumping down onto his bottom with a howl. He glared at Pardigan who leapt to his feet to help the little man up. Loras was almost doubled up in silent giggles.

'I'm so sorry Mr Elisop sir, what kind of loyal helper am I to your august self if my feet get in the way?' Elisop slapped his hands away but obviously thought better of making a further scene.

'The Realm is grateful to all of you. I look forward to hearing the details of your adventures later, but we must return these skulls to the temple at Sterling as soon as we can. Do we know where the third and final skull is located?'

'The final skull was taken by the traitor Matheus Hawk and is thought now to be in the possession of the invaders to the south.' Magician Falk drew a map from his cloak and spread it on the small table. 'Do we know where the invaders, the Soul Eaters, as we now know them to be called, have reached?'

King Hugo didn't even bother to look at the map. 'I am sorry to say that they stand before the gates of Dhurban.'

* * *

'Eat your soup, you dim-witted girl.' Matheus Hawk sneered across the dirty table at his captive and brushed Nhasic back, who was about to dash in and grab at the bowl set in front of the Princess. She sat slumped and uncooperative opposite him. Slowly raising her head, she offered a look of loathing and contempt that contorted her dirty face.

'Your stupid monkey can have it I don't care. It tastes like filth, it tastes like your monkey has been bathing in the pot when you weren't looking.' Upon hearing this Nhasic scampered out of the Hawk's reach, chattering angrily in denial of the alleged crime.

'I don't care what he has been doing in it, you will get nothing else and you will die if you do not eat. You keep telling me your young friend is going to come rescue you. Wouldn't it be a little unfortunate if he arrived and you were just a skinny disgusting corpse? He wouldn't find you very attractive then, would he? So eat!' The Hawk finished his own bowl and wiped a piece of bread around to mop up the last of the soup, then pushed the bowl to the side and stood up. 'I don't care; die if you wish. They will come to find you whether you are dead or alive it means nothing to me. You smell bad enough already… like a walking corpse,' his lips drew back in a sneer.

Gathering her resolve, Fajira leant forward, brought the bowl to her mouth and began to slurp the soup down as quickly as she could. She would not give this pig the satisfaction of seeing her fade away and die. Loras would find her, and when he did then he would rescue her and end this puffed up conjurer's life with one mighty spell that would leave him dead and defeated like a steaming pile of camel dung.

The little demon thing was getting closer again - edging nearer and nearer ready to pounce, it didn't think she had noticed. Its master was distracted, consulting his endless notes and the foul creature was going to try to dart in and steal her bread. She continued to sip at the broth and then as it appeared about ready to make a final lunge, she darted forward and spat a stream of soup into its face.

Matheus Hawk jumped up as Nhasic let out a shrill scream and then scrambled to rescue his notes from the soup-splattered table. The little demon was scurrying around in circles, flapping its arms and licking its face with either alarm or relish… she wasn't quite sure if it was happy or angry to be covered in soup, but at least she was smiling. Nhasic made a run at her, screaming and jabbering madly, and then she backed hurriedly out of her chair.

'Get away, horrid thing, take it away from me. You will both die terrible deaths when Loras arrives. He will snap his fingers and your skin will feel as if it is being eaten by sand worms, leaving you screaming and grovelling for mercy. Go… get away… filthy beast!'

Nhasic lunged, but he wasn't seeking to strike the Princess, he snatched the bread, hissed one final time, and ran chattering up onto a rock shelf to devour his prize. The Hawk let out a bellow of laughter and clapped his hands in delight, but then ducked hurriedly as an empty soup bowl narrowly missed his head and smashed on the wall behind him. He rose slowly and glowered at the Princess - she had a good aim, he had to give her that.

'Hang me back on the wall. I have eaten, I am still alive, and I will wait for Loras on my own, away from you… you pig!'

'Yes Princess, we shall all wait. We shall wait, and when your small friend gets here, I shall kill you both very slowly, and Nhasic will delight in sucking on your bones. Now get into your shackles and be silent, I have plans to complete.'

* * *

The cold was a shock as they flew over the desert. In the north, they had expected it, but a desert by its very nature is a hot, dry and, usually, a very sandy expanse. Hanging on to
The Griffin
as it dipped and soared effortlessly through a clear blue, cloudless sky using the air currents that rose from the larger sand dunes below to gain tremendous stomach churning lift, it was numbingly cold. They had been flying for most of the day, and now as the sun was setting in a splendour of colour, the crew were fighting fatigue and in danger of collapse, which at this height would be fatal. There was also a need to eat, to set a fire and warm up before the real cold of the desert night set in and, finally, to find some sleep.

Feeling stiff and exhausted from the constant buffeting and battling with the elements, Quint craned around to glance back at his friends. Each was caught in their own little world of suffering, holding on in dogged determination and leaning into each other in an effort to keep warm and escape the wind. Their eyes were closed, their hoods pulled up as they dealt with their own silent torments after a full day of flight, constantly flexing and gripping on as
The Griffin
turned, dropped and soared… it was definitely time to land.

Concentrating, Quint tried to find his voice, which wasn't easy. His throat was parched, long robbed of moisture by the dry desert air, and his voice when it did emerge was parched and croaky and instantly snatched away on the wind. Leaning as far forward as he could towards
The Griffin's
strange feather pointed ears, he shouted, '
Griffin
… go down… find… find a place… a place to camp.'

Legs aching and fingers numb from exposure, he suddenly had serious misgivings about his ability to loosen his hold where his fingers gripped stubbornly upon the thick pelt at the base of
The Griffin's
neck. He rolled his neck and turned around again to warn his friends.

'We're going down,' he called over his shoulder, 'hold on.' As if sensing their readiness,
The Griffin
dropped and banked to the right. Quint felt his stomach lurch at the sudden movement, his legs responding, gripping fiercely, and his fingers found some last vestige of life and tightened their grip, and he knew, that behind him, the others would each be doing the same.

In the early days of them learning to fly, Pardigan had actually parted company with
The Griffin's
back, left up in the air as
The Griffin
had dropped away beneath him. Afterwards, he had tried to explain that his fingers had been cold, and he had been warming them… just for a few moments. The next thing he knew was
The Griffin
had gone, and he was floundering, flapping his arms in mid-air and screaming as he fell towards the ground at an alarming speed. They had caught him before he had hit the ground, of course, but it was a valuable lesson for each of them. From then on they always kept one hand tightly gripped on, even when they were warming the other in the folds of their cloak.

The Griffin
swooped low over a large dune, its trailing claws raking the top and then dropped down to the base where it flared its huge wings and reared up, flapping to stop itself. It came to rest and sank down into the sand, snuffling and snorting contentedly as it soaked up the welcomed warmth left from the heat of the day.

The lack of movement was almost a shock to her passengers after a day of rushing wind and turbulent movement. As the silence set in, it took a few moments for each of them to slide or fall into the sand, the warmth of it an unexpected delight as it seeped through their clothing then deeper down to warm their bones. The danger right now was the desire to let go and fall asleep; it would be so easy and so very welcome. Quint knew that if that happened, they would wake in the middle of the night frozen and totally unprepared to warm themselves, and that would be if they were lucky because the alternative would be not to wake at all and die. They needed to rouse themselves, make camp and light a fire.

'Come on, up!' Quint pulled himself to his feet, staggering a little, and gave a soft kick to Tarent's ribs.

'Hey! I'm getting up… really,' murmured Tarent. He rolled wearily over and shook Mahra, but as was normal, she was asleep, curled up as a grey cat. She slept a lot at any time and always after flying. When Mahra was asleep, it was both hard and a little dangerous to wake her, so he left her alone. Pardigan was already on his feet, pulling bundles of wood from
The Griffin's
back, so Quint began unfurling the length of canvas that they could either string up as a tent or just lay on and look up at the stars.
The Griffin
had already curled up, her head lying down between her front paws like a huge, strange looking cat… thing, snoring softly. Quint smiled then placed the canvas next to her so that the heat from her body would help to keep them warm - it was going to be good to sleep between her and the fire. He had no idea what the next day would bring. They would be arriving at the desert city of Dhurban around midday, and if the reports that had been coming out of the desert were true, there may be no city left. The King had said the few scouts that had made it back to Deniah gabbled manically, often sobbing as they told of a huge army camped around the city, giant beasts and things that drifted through the desert attacking their small, well hidden camps, mutilating their camels and ripping the life from anyone unlucky enough to be their victim - less than one in twenty of the scouts had been returning.

'You must go to aid Dhurban,' the King had instructed. 'Our own troops will be arriving with the new moon, some seven days hence. If the unthinkable is to happen and the desert city falls, then it shall be the first small settlements of the Realm that would be next to suffer… and then it would be the city of Freya. The invaders must be stopped before they can leave the desert.'

And so the crew had flown whilst Magician Falk and Elisop made their own separate way to Sterling to replace the skulls, promising they would rejoin them as soon as possible for the battle at Dhurban.

'Do not fret, my young friends. I have my own very special way to bring the skulls to their home and then Mr Elisop and I shall fly our own way to Dhurban,' the Magician had cryptically explained.

* * *

Matheus Hawk frowned in concentration as he gazed into the scrying dish. His abilities with the dish had improved along with the rest of his magic, but scrying was still a hot and tiring business. He wiped the sweat from his brow and swiped an arm dismissively at Nhasic, who, interests piqued, had been peering into the hot dish over the Hawk's shoulder as the strange creature, and those that rode it, came to rest somewhere out in the desert.

'I can see your sweetheart, Princess,' cooed Matheus. 'Although what you see in the little runt, beggar's belief! He is no more than a bag of bones, some stupid glasses and a few cheap conjuring tricks.' The Hawk continued to glower into the dish, moving his hands about the burning hot rim to focus and guide the scene. He was well aware of the child Magician's powers and knew not to underestimate him when they next met. However, it was too good an opportunity to taunt the snivelling wretch he had chained to the wall some two spans up on the side of the cave. He ignored the shrieks and name calling and glanced over grinning as Nhasic threw a selection of figs and the dried fruits favoured by the desert dwellers up at her. It really was good to have her here, he mused. It had been several months since he had shared space with anything other than Nhasic and she was almost… company… a companion. The Hawk shook the notion away and returned to his task. The brats were getting close. Tomorrow they would arrive and the next turn of events would begin to unfold, and this group of young troublemakers would die along with the rest of the city. It was time to prepare to meet with them… time to kill the Magician.

* * *

The city of Dhurban, when it eventually came into view, was just how Quint remembered it. Far below the circling
Griffin
, sunlight reflected, sparkling and flashing from the golden tops of countless coloured roofs and minarets, streets teamed with people going about their business and smoke drifted up in thin wisps from hundreds of chimneys and cooking fires. Within the city walls, life appeared to be normal. Surrounded by a sea of wavering sand dunes the city's high crenulated walls, minarets and towers stood in defiance of the hostile environment that surrounded it.

When the desert merchants had first settled this desert city countless years before, they had each built higher and more elaborate towers in rivalry of each other and to offer praise to their strange faceless god and his many messengers – the result was a truly magnificent city.

Mountains rose in the distance, almost a day's camel ride north of the great city, which offered water to those that could find it and would certainly have provided shelter, minerals and building materials to the early settlers, yet the Dhurbars of ancient times had instead chosen the vast emptiness of the desert to construct their city.

To the approaching visitors it was a beautiful sight that was made no less so by the colossal army that surrounded the walled city like a huge spreading stain.

As
The Griffin
banked sharply, it came in lower and soared above the invaders. Quint gazed down to study the multitude of colourful tents and shelters of their camp. His eyes fell upon roped off paddocks filled with thousands upon thousands of camels and then huge, lumbering beasts that he had never seen before and couldn't name, he found it hard to draw his eyes away from them. Each strange beast had massive ears as big as boat sails that constantly moved and flapped, stirring up clouds of flies and dust as they paced up and down their enclosures as if impatient to be free. Sandy grey in colour, they were each as big as a merchant's house and had an immensely long swaying nose that separated tiny, glistening eyes. Transfixed for a moment, Quint watched as a large beast picked up some sand with its nose and threw it up into the air towards them, the nose moving around like a serpent, sniffing and tasting. Quint watched to see if a small tongue would dart out of the end, but he didn't see one. What he did now see was that the largest beasts had four strange white horns extending from either side of their heads which fell forward in swooping arcs, the largest almost touching the ground. Above and around them the dust was being stirred by their constant shuffling movement, floating up towards the flying
Griffin
in a dark choking haze.

He decided he had seen enough and pulled gently in
The Griffin's
pelt with his left hand while leaning to the side and squeezing slightly with his left leg to bring them back towards the city. He sighed, there was no more delaying their landing, yet there was bound to be trouble. Gazing through squinted eyes, he searched for the large green lawns of the Sultan's palace. The last time they were there they had been rescuing Princess Fajira from her father the Sultan while Loras and the Sultan's Magician had been hurling fireballs at each other… he had a bad feeling about returning.

The Griffin
swooped in low towards the city wall but then banked away at the last moment flinging the crew to the side so violently that Quint glanced back the moment he regained his seat, sure that one of his friends must have been tipped off, but thankfully they were all there. In fact, Loras was looking up over Pardigan's shoulder, smiling happily.

Loras cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted to Quint.

'There's a magic shield, a barrier of some kind over the city, it's really good! Go in close again.' Still holding on to
The Griffin
with one hand, Loras removed his glasses and tried to polish them, obviously eager to get a better look at the barrier on the next pass.

'Can you get us through it?' shouted Quint as he guided
The Griffin
around again. 'Hold tight, here we go!'

Arrows flew up at them as they passed over the closest invaders, but they were beyond their range and the arrows fell short. They flew along the length of the wall to allow Loras a good look at the magic barrier whilst Quint glanced across, noticing the startled looks from the Sultan's men on the walls and thought again about this all being a bad idea. Then he heard Loras shout again.

'Yes, I can see what he's done… Quint, take us in near the base of that tower… I can get us through there… I think… I think I can anyway because it looks weaker there.'

'You think!' cried Pardigan raising his head with a look of alarm. 'What do you mean you…?'
The Griffin
turned towards the wall. 'Quint no, don't!'
The Griffin
dropped further and then soared over the edge of the battlements with the Dhurbar guards suddenly frantic, shouting and stabbing up with their spears as they passed overhead.

Entering the city over the wall felt really… strange. It was as if they were being squeezed then spat out the other side. The experience left each of them feeling nauseous, breathless and shaken.

'Oh, source… I said don't! That was horrible' screamed Pardigan. 'What happened?'

Behind them, the guards were yelling, and a loud gong was being pounded enthusiastically, its deep booming noise echoing in warning, out over the city.
The Griffin,
beating its huge wings, dipped and faltered, obviously affected the same as its riders by its pass through the barrier. It struggled to lift up over the rooftops and let out a plaintive cry before crashing into a roof, hard, the impact jarring, shaking them all.
The Griffin's
clawed feet scrabbled and clutched at the tiles as its passengers fought desperately to stay on. Tiles and wooden slats were torn away, crashing into the street below as the great beast struggled to lever itself up with wings and claws towards the roofline and then over. Taking a colossal leap, it took flight once again, huge wings beating in an effort to gain height while the crew tried desperately to hold on.

A short while later they were landing in much the same spot as they done over a year before with a similar group of uniformed guards running towards them brandishing an assortment of weapons and yelling a confusion of orders and commands.