Mage Prime (Book 2) (19 page)

Placing a restraining hand on Areel’s arm, Karryl leaned his head forward, keeping his voice conspiratorially low. “We have to go back to the temple. I know how to get the medallion!”

Areel’s eyes glinted. Karryl thought a brief inexplicable smile of satisfaction flicked across the desert dweller’s lips as he tilted his head to one side. “That is most fortunate. However, Lord Ghian will have left the temple now, and even I cannot enter his presence without permission. His grelfon’s feeding will have satisfied certain needs of his own. It is unlikely that he will request my services tonight.”

Karryl frowned, and let the remark pass without comment, but his skin crawled.

Areel beckoned. “Come. I will take you to see what only grelfons have seen.”

The narrow tunnel he led them through was a long gradual incline, and Karryl’s legs were aching by the time they reached a tiny, moonlit exit. Slithering and scrambling through the narrow opening, they stood up to find themselves at the rear of a wide, shale-covered plateau. Behind them rose a sheer and forbidding black rock-face, an awe-inspiring view of the entire city of Vedra spread out in front of and below them. Quickly Karryl closed his eyes and released his dark-sight. He reopened them, and gasped. The city extended far out in all directions. It seemed to coruscate in the cold white light of the low riding moon, which served only to emphasise the deep malevolence which emanated from the city’s squat, dark-stoned ugliness. Raising his eyes in an effort to detect some limit to this massive sprawl, Karryl’s attention was caught by a number of tall, solidly built, gradually tapering rectangular towers, their crenellated tops soaring high above any other of the city’s oppressive structures.

As if reading Karryl’s mind, Areel turned towards him. “One of those towers is our destination. It will not be pleasant, but the experience may prove invaluable.”

Magnor groaned. “Can I just wait here? I don’t think my presence is absolutely essential is it?”

Areel gave a low chuckle. “Alas, good Magnor, it is, but only for the reason that we shall return from the tower to the portal, and we must be linked. Bear a little longer, faithful one. Your role in this is almost complete.”

He held out both slim, dark brown hands. Taking one each, Karryl and Magnor then joined hands with each other. Karryl felt his ears pop slightly. The miasma which suddenly enveloped him gave warning that he was no longer in the clean air of the desert plateau. Immediately Magnor began retching mightily, adding the remains of his last meal to the stinking accumulation of bones, skin-scraps and gobbets of half- rotted flesh with which the wide flat top of the tower was strewn.

Controlling his own stomach only with an effort, Karryl forced a grin. “Keep it tidy, Magnor. They’ll be back for this lot later.”

The Grrybhñnös elder moaned, doubled over and made one more heroic addition to the stinking piles of decomposing detritus, before wiping his mouth and resting his backside wearily against a section of the low stone parapet. The soles of his boots making sticky tearing noises as he moved his feet, Karryl turned slowly round where he stood, straining once more to see the extent of the city.

He gestured outwards. “Areel, I can make a good guess at what these towers are. I think it’s pretty obvious.”

Before he could continue, Areel had anticipated his question. “From this particular tower, it is possible to see every other tower in the city. Count them and mark their location. Look over the parapet. You will see that this is the King Tower, below which lies the gathering area of the grelfons. In a direct line east is the training area where the Grelfi assemble with their charges. The grelfon you saw tonight is Lord Ghian’s own personally trained beast. There is a deep bond between them. Lord Ghian chose her as a year-old whelp, shortly after he became Master of Vedra.” Areel gave Karryl a sideways glance, his voice little more than a murmur. “Some say they chose each other.”

Karryl peered down over the parapet, but could see very little in the darkness far below. “She’s only a juvenile then?”

Areel’s mouth contorted in a wry twist. “In life-length, yes. But Lord Ghian has magically enhanced her. She is now a powerful and well advanced beast; almost a Queen.”

Sensing a note of something akin to awe in Areel’s reply, Karryl shifted tack slightly. “Do the Grelfi actually ride their beasts? They’re big enough.”

Against the parapet, Areel leaned close to Karryl, still keeping his voice low. “Some Grelfi do ride them, even though they place themselves in constant danger. The grelfons are highly trained, but their natural instinct is to attack and kill. The Grelfi utilise this to the full, but until recently the majority flew unridden.”

Despite his loathing of the creatures, Karryl was intrigued. “Then how are they controlled?”

Areel’s dark eyes glinted in the moonlight. “By the power of the mind. Both Grelfi and grelfons are telepathic, each beast finely attuned to its own handler.”

Karryl mulled that over then frowned as something occurred to him. “What if the Grelfine handler is killed?”

Areel turned away from the parapet and stepped across the bone littered floor to stare in the direction of the training area. “In my lifetime there has been only one occurrence. A fatal accident. The grelfon went ‘berserk’ I think is your word. It flew screaming over the city for hours. All attempts to control it resulted in failure. It finally returned to the site of its handler’s death. For two days and nights it lay by the corpse. During that time it killed a priest who tried to approach. It then threw itself over the two bodies, and died the next morning. Oil was poured over them and they were consigned to fire.”

Karryl was surprised to hear a deep belly chuckle, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder before turning in Magnor’s direction. Having obviously recovered, his companion was now peering out over the city.

He spoke without turning. “It would seem they have a penchant for spectacular failures, especially recently. I think mistakes are being made in their efforts to obtain everything they need for the time of the conjunction.” He turned a quizzical gaze on Areel. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Before the desert dweller could reply, Karryl slapped a hand on the sticky parapet. “Well, I certainly would, and they’re going to be one item less shortly. I know how to get it back, but I have to be near… to… Ghian.” His voice trailed off as something occurred to him. “Then again, maybe I don’t.”

He turned sharply to Areel. “If I try something, successful or not, how quickly can you get us away?”

The desert dweller tilted his head to one side, and for a brief moment Karryl was reminded of Symon. “Two heartbeats and we can be at the portal.” He gave Karryl a look of appraisal. “I believe I am correct in thinking that the sacred script is no longer a closed book to you.”

Karryl gave a vigorous nod. “I could read it almost straight away. It’s very similar to the language the guards were speaking, but purer somehow. It’s strange that I couldn’t grasp what they were saying, yet I can read the script.”

Areel nodded as if it was no more than he expected. “All the guard speak a vulgar hybrid language, with its roots in Vedric. The language of the sigils that the Lord Ghian bears is pure Vedric, the language of our ancient ancestors. Very few can read or speak it.”

Karryl’s voice was muffled by black fabric as he pulled the Vedran robe off over his head. “Can Ghian?”

Areel raised a cynical eyebrow. “He struggles, yet claims he has mastery. He will allow no others to study or attempt it.”

Turning round to face the direction of the temple, Areel glanced up at the position of the white moon. “Time races, but I think it is now that I should reveal a little more to you.”

He stood for a long moment, palms pressed together in front of his dark, hawk-nosed face. Eyes closed, he began to speak, almost as if he were in a reverie, or making a recitation. “The great exit of the temple’s Sacrificial Chamber is a massive, tapering portal, its columns and lintel many spans in width. The columns are heavily inscribed and carved with scenes and symbols from our long distant past, but the lintel, far above head height, carries a great phrase which some consider even to be a curse. It is said that one will come who would utter the words inscribed on that lintel, and all would be revealed. None has yet done so.”

His basalt black eyes flicked open, and he lowered his hands. “One of my faithful servants did inform me some time ago that the Lord Ghian, immediately after his initiation, made an attempt at it. The High Priestess Andra stopped him.”

Karryl frowned. “Was that Andra in the red robe, at the ceremony?”

Areel bowed his head and studied his hands for a moment or two. “It was. Andra is the temple’s most loyal and devoted High Priestess. She has many powers and skills and is extremely valuable to the temple. She and Lord Ghian were, for a while, very close, if you understand me. However, for some reason we may never discover, she displeased Lord Ghian. It was only her own exceptional powers that saved her. Instead Lord Ghian fed her own trusted servant to his grelfon. The few unhappy souls who dared to protest suffered a similar fate.” A disdainful smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Ghian’s grelfon was useless for days afterwards.”

Magnor’s deep voice rumbled from behind them. “Definitely sounds like a scion of the lot that nearly reduced my race to extinction.”

Karryl couldn’t resist. “D’you mean Ghian, or the grelfon?”

Magnor slapped his own forearm in derision. “One’s as bad as the other. Your choice. Now, did I hear you say you could retrieve the medallion?”

Karryl’s chin lifted as Magnor’s question snapped him back to the present. “I’m almost certain I can, and I want to try it now while Ghian’s probably tired. I’m also basing this on an assumption. If I’m wrong, I’ll have to change my whole way of thinking.”

He gave a little gulp, holding up a hand as if to dismiss the thought, then gave his companions a little grin. “If this works, hopefully the medallion will come flying through the air and someone will have to catch it. Otherwise I might find it embedded in my skull. Are we ready?”

Arranging themselves in a defensive wall, the three faced the direction of the temple. Karryl closed his eyes. Gradually he cleared his mind of everything until his vision was clearly focussed on the column of nine shining sigils adorning the front of Ghian’s robe.

As he took a breath to utter the first syllable, he felt the strong reassurance of Areel’s hand gripping his arm. “Do not hesitate or stumble. Utter slowly, clearly and with authority. Be sure before you utter. There may be no second chance.”

Karryl responded by flexing his arm beneath Areel’s hand then began to concentrate. The first of the sigils flared bright and clear in his vision, and he translated it without hesitation. It disappeared. The second flared brightly and was dealt with in the same way. The third and fourth closely followed, winking out of sight as soon as Karryl translated them.

Unlike the others the fifth did not appear immediately. Hardly daring to breathe, Karryl stood and waited. Eventually, a shimmering pale red outline trembled into sight, indistinct and shadowy.

Areel’s voice filtered gently into Karryl’s mind. “Ghian is trying to block you. Do not allow it. Wait, and will the sigils to come to you.”

Karryl waited, breathing slowly and deeply, but even as he called on his powers he could feel them being drawn away from him. Once, twice, the fifth of the sigils flared. Each time he thought he had it in the grasp of his mind, but each time he was thwarted. Drawing in the last vestiges of his power to begin yet another attempt, he felt a shuffle beside him. Magnor’s strong hand caught up his own in a firm warm grip. New power surged through him. Instantly, Karryl thrust his mind towards the dark depths of the temple. In a swift pulse of light, the fifth appeared, closely followed by the final four. Karryl translated firmly and clearly. As the ninth of the sigils winked into darkness, Karryl quickly opened his eyes and stared in the direction of the temple.

The city and its dark, forbidding temple were no longer there. He was standing beside Magnor and Areel, gazing at a blank rock face, just seconds before the first spitting, screaming grelfon landed on the King’s Tower.

Areel’s calming voice broke into Karryl’s stunned thoughts. “We had to leave. grelfon were flying.”

Karryl’s voice rose in a wail of anguish. “But what about the medallion?”

Areel’s grin shone whitely in the moonlight as Magnor released one of his more hearty chuckles. “Can’t you feel that weight around your neck? Perhaps you’re a bit more tired than we thought.”

Karryl looked down at his chest. With a great gulp of relief, he closed his fingers over the medallion and lifted it in front of his eyes. Much larger than it had seemed in Symon’s drawing, it completely filled his hand. A heavy gold chain was threaded through one of three small rectangular holes pierced equidistantly round its inner edge. Karryl noticed a small flaw in the closely woven links of the chain, as if at some time it had been broken then mended. Leaving Karryl no time to study his hard won prize further, Areel opened a narrow shimmering portal in the rock face.

Thrusting the abandoned lanterns into their hands he pushed them both bodily through. “We shall meet again.”

He was alone, but that was the way he wanted it. A temple guard was stationed outside the room to ensure he would not be disturbed. He could have placed a warding on the door, but a warding would not kill, only stun or maim, and in his domain the disobedient died. He had left the dark, oppressive temple with cries of rapturous adulation ringing in his ears, leaving the priests and priestesses to perform the final rites and clean up the mess.

Tonight, his grelfon had chosen to feed, had picked a willing victim from those who had succumbed to the euphoria and come forward to kneel before the ghastly altar. Another four, possibly five nights would pass before it fed again. The whole ceremony had sickened Ghian to his stomach, and despite the immutable bond he had with his beast, he found its habits deplorable. Following the opulence of his sojourn in Nebir, his return to the city of Vedra earlier that day had come as a welcome antidote. Nevertheless he had, rather disturbingly, found tonight’s rituals particularly nauseating. He had made his exit as quickly as temple etiquette would allow. The straight, high-walled and dimly lit corridors of unrelieved black stone seemed endless. The hard unyielding floor jarred his aching legs as he strode in dignified haste to the sanctuary of his well appointed living quarters. Now, like a spoilt child, he picked and pushed at the delicacies left for him. His libido at low ebb, he even felt repugnance at the mere thought of taking some eager and willing acolyte or priestess to his bed.

With one final prod at his food he stood up. Removing the heavy medallion from round his neck, he laid it carefully in the centre of a small, inlaid table. He then removed his black robe, hanging it on a form specially made for the purpose, after he had discovered by chance that the intriguingly worked sigils were only visible when viewed from directly in front. Since then, almost every evening he had derived some grim satisfaction from lying on his couch and gazing at them in the hope that, one day soon, their meaning would become clear. This night, the usual frisson of anticipation failed to stir him. Its place had been usurped by an invisible cloud of discontent, a feeling to which he was not accustomed. As he contemplated the sigils, the discontent continued to fester, gathering gradually into a throbbing head of bitterness. Looking round the room, he saw as if for the first time the beautiful wall hangings, ancient and priceless figurines, some of solid gold, standing on furniture crafted from rare and costly woods. It all gave him scant comfort. Prevented from losing himself in the dark, diabolic mind of his now gorged and somnolent grelfon, Ghian decided to seek the solace of sleep. Yet even that was to be denied him.

As he focussed once more on the sigils, his eyes widened and his pulse began to race. All vestiges of despondency shrivelled away. A pale luminescence had imbued the first of the sigils with a shimmering life, its complexity rendered clearly visible against the robe’s smooth black fabric. Sitting bolt upright, his fists clenched in anticipation, Ghian stared as it faded and the second one took on an opalescent glow. This too, quickly flickered away as the third one flared into visibility, its form appearing to writhe sinuously in an incandescent fire. A softly metallic tinkling sound caused Ghian to turn sharply. With a roar of rage and anguish he lunged towards the inlaid table, his hand outstretched.

The medallion rose high in the air, its gold chain briefly brushing the backs of his clutching fingers. Realisation struck him like an attacking grelfon. Swiftly he drew power but the fourth sigil’s outline was already diminishing. Ghian forced everything he had into blocking translation of the fifth. It flickered weakly, a barely visible faint blue outline. Ghian relaxed slightly as it faded completely. Suddenly he clasped his hands tightly round his head. Sharp and intense pain pulsed through his skull, forcing him to relinquish his power. Nauseous with pain and barely able to see, he stumbled across the room and threw open the door.

His voice quavering he yelled hoarsely at the astonished guard. “Fly the grelfons! Fly the grelfons! We have enemies among us!”

As the guard hurtled along the passage to raise the alarm, Ghian turned and quickly scanned the room before sinking to his knees. With tears of anger and frustration trickling down his face, he beat his fists impotently against the luxurious carpet. The medallion, symbol of his power and authority, was gone.