Mage Prime (Book 2) (20 page)

The sigh of the portal’s closing died away to be followed by a long gasping groan from Karryl. Just in time Magnor reached out to bear the young magician’s weight before he folded into a heap. His whole body trembled, his eyes were closed, and a fine sheen of perspiration covered the sickly pallor of his face. Galvanised into action by the sound of approaching footsteps, Magnor lowered Karryl to the tunnel floor as quickly and gently as he could. Turning his mind inwards, he retrieved the mental blueprint of Dhoum and set the metamorphosis in motion. The tall lean figure of a desert warrior silently and steadily reduced in stature and increased in girth.

Its completion coincided with the arrival of the owners of the feet. “Dhoum! Good to see you again! We thought it best to come and check that you were alright.”

Symon clapped the black-robed Dhoum on his broad shoulder. “You look like a hairy cleric!”

Before Dhoum could reply, Symon was kneeling beside the still-trembling Karryl. Quickly he checked his vital signs then looked up at Dhoum. “Well, whatever he’s been doing, it certainly took the best part of his power. He’s almost drained.”

Dhoum crouched down beside the little magician and murmured into his ear. “It would more than likely have killed him if he’d continued alone. We transferred enough power into him to make the attempt successful. Look!”

Pulling aside the front of Karryl’s jerkin, Dhoum briefly revealed the medallion. Taking no time to examine it, Symon quickly slipped it down inside the front of Karryl’s tunic, and out of sight. Beckoning to the two healers who had accompanied him, he and Dhoum moved to one side, allowing the healers to position themselves one on either side of Karryl. The older of them placed his hands carefully across the young magician’s brow and temples, while the younger healer introduced a single drop of a clear golden liquid to the young magician’s tongue. In the space of a few heart-beats his trembling abated, and the healers carefully wiped away the perspiration with moistened cloths. Both healers then stood, just as Karryl mumbled something and opened his eyes. Directly in his line of vision, Symon was the recipient of a weak grin.

He returned it with a brief nod, his expression inscrutable then turned to Dhoum. “Who else was with you?”

The sleek-haired Grrybhñnös drew a scaly four-fingered hand over his muzzle. “A trusted ally. Areel.”

Symon spent a moment or two gazing intently at the floor. “Areel? Unlikely name for an ally! Hmmm. The situation becomes ever more complex.”

The little magician stood tapping his forefinger against his chin as he watched the two healers help Karryl to sit up. Satisfied he was recovering and no longer in any danger, they picked up their bags and took their leave. Karryl held out a hand and Dhoum hauled him to his feet.

Symon eyed his apprentice thoughtfully. “As it seems you are sufficiently restored, perhaps we can make our way back. Master Tukrin is safe, thanks to you, but I think it wise not to waste any more time here. We must set about discovering who is responsible for the wicked deed.”

The little magician grabbed up a now redundant lantern and began to scurry off towards the tunnel entrance. Karryl raised a questioning eyebrow at Dhoum. The Grrybhñnös nodded slowly, a knowing sparkle in his amber eyes.

Karryl called after the hastening form of the diminutive magician. “Master Symon! We already know… everything.”

Symon waved over his shoulder without turning. “No time now, Karryl. We have to…”

He stopped suddenly, lowered the lantern to the floor and stood, arms folded inside his sleeves, patiently waiting until the others caught up.

Head cocked to one side he looked almost accusingly up at Karryl. “To say one knows everything is a rather broad statement, young Karryl. Am I to presume you refer to matters pertaining to events of approximately one hour ago?”

Karryl nearly dropped the lantern he was carrying. An incredulous snort escaped from Dhoum’s hairily obscured snout. He sidled over to Karryl and mumbled, not too quietly, against his left elbow. “Strikes me someone’s been messing about with time.”

Karryl nodded. They both looked accusingly at Symon. The magician raised both hands in denial. “Don’t look at me! Even if I had the power to do such a thing, Naboria’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

Karryl shrugged, and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. “Could we go and have something to eat while we talk about this? I’m starving.”

Symon’s grey eyes twinkled as he looked him up and down. “I should imagine. Not much to eat in the desert unless you know where to look. Nevertheless, your stomach will have to wait a little longer. I must get the medallion back in safe keeping until such time as I return to Vellethen.”

In a slight fit of pique, Karryl’s eyes narrowed and he folded his arms. “How did you know where we’d been, and how did you know that I have the medallion?”

Symon threw back his head and released a great guffaw. Patting his palms together, the little magician grinned up at Karryl, delight evident on his round face. “I knew you’d ask me that! It’s quite simple really.”

He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

Karryl gave in. “All right. Amaze me. Although after what I’ve seen recently, it could be difficult.”

Symon gave a knowing wink. “Indeed yes. Well, it’s the colour of the sand. The stuff that was falling out of your clothes onto the tunnel floor is totally different to that found in Thermera. Not only that, you also reek of night air and grelfon.”

An almost beatific expression on his face, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “As for the medallion, we-e-ell; although Dhoum did show it to me, I already knew it was nearby. It sings to me you see.”

Karryl was unable to suppress a smile as he remembered the way the book had sung to him in Symon’s tower.

Symon wagged a finger. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Let’s just say I can sense it. That’s how I found it in the first place. Now, no more questions. There will be enough questions, and hopefully answers before too much longer.”

Before Karryl had chance to reply, Dhoum stepped forward, thoughtfully stroking his golden throat-patch.

He peered up at each of them in turn, then leaned towards them, keeping his voice low. “I can provide Solen with as much information as he needs, but the follow-up will be down to us. Recent events have changed things. It’s time for you to move on Master Karryl. Sooner than originally planned I must admit, but it would be rather dangerous for you to remain here.

“Master Symon will stay, but it falls to me to deliver you safely to your next destination. If the beings who inhabit it are so minded, it is there that you will acquire the ultimate knowledge you will need.”

Karryl stared first at Dhoum and then at Symon. “Isn’t this all going a bit fast? I’ve only been here barely a day, which somehow turned into a day and a night, I’m that hungry I could eat a scabby horse between two straw mattresses, and now you’re talking about whisking me off to somewhere else! A bit of sleep wouldn’t come amiss either. Whose life is it anyway?”

Symon gave his petulant apprentice a long flat look. “For the time being, not yours. I hope you’re not developing a selfish streak. You may not be aware, but the survival of a world, possibly two, depends on your coming through all this successfully. Now, if you’ll give me the medallion, I’ll ensure that it remains with me. After much deliberation I have decided that it is in all likelihood a scientific rather than a magical artefact, and I can think of no better place than Thermera to study it further.”

Looking rather shamefaced, Karryl reached into his tunic and drew out the medallion on its gold chain. Reluctantly he handed it to Symon who quickly hung it round his own neck, tucking it away down the front of his robe.

Noticing the look on Karryl’s face, Symon gave a little shrug. “Don’t worry. Even if there is some kind of attack from Naboria, it will be quite safe. There is no dark Vedric magic which can overcome the kind of wards that will be placed on this valuable item. When we get back to our rooms at the palace, you can apply yourself to the problem of how the medallion works with the book.

“Now, I must be off. It would be best if you and Dhoum left immediately. He knows what to do and where to take you. Solen and Janar need to be advised, as there may well be repercussions from some decidedly tetchy Vedrans. If one can make a shift-portal, you can almost guarantee there will be others.”

Patting his chest as if to reassure himself of the reality of the medallion, the little magician turned and set off at a brisk pace towards the tunnel entrance. Dhoum and Karryl gazed thoughtfully at his retreating back.

His hand under Karryl’s elbow, Dhoum steered him through the tunnel gate. “If you’re feeling better we’ll make our way out of here.”

Remembering the seemingly endless curving length of the tunnel, Karryl groaned.

Dhoum held up a four-fingered hand. “Don’t worry. We won’t be going all the way back. For you, there is another way out. It will mean getting your feet wet, but it’ll be quicker and it’s level.”

Karryl smiled grimly. “I’m all for that. Come to think about it, it was getting my feet wet that started all this in the first place.”

Dhoum gave one of his rare, slow blinks. “Best get going. It’s quite a way to where I have to leave you.”

Karryl stopped in mid stride. “Can’t we just dematerialise here and turn up there? It would save …”

Dhoum made a swift cutting motion with his hand. “Can’t be done. Those wishing to gain admittance to your next destination have to walk the designated path to the portal.”

He resumed his rolling gait along the tunnel. By the time Karryl had caught up with him, he was standing gazing at the wall to his right. He looked up at Karryl. “This is the place.”

The young magician stared at the featureless dark grey stone. “Oh! What joy! We’re going through another wall!”

His companion fixed a flat amber gaze on him, and Karryl mutely threw up his hands in resignation. Moving close to the wall until his muzzle was almost touching it, Dhoum studied the grey stone. As Karryl stepped closer to peer over his shoulder, the Grrybhñnös started to scrub the backs of his scaly fingers across a small area just above eye level. Gradually a faint rectangular outline, a hand-span’s width, appeared on the surface. Folding his four-jointed fingers into a box-like fist, Dhoum pushed hard against the rectangle. Slowly and smoothly it sank into the wall.

He turned to Karryl. “Ready?”

Karryl nodded as, with a low rumbling noise, a section of the wall in front of him began to recede then slid sideways to the right until it had stowed itself out of sight behind the arm’s length thickness of the wall. Dhoum quickly stepped through and beckoned Karryl to follow. A couple of paces inside, Karryl turned just in time to see the heavy stone door sliding across to blot out the light from the tunnel. The darkness was absolute. He had just begun the dark-sight spell when he heard a click. The blackness was dispelled by a flood of brilliant blue light.

Dhoum waved the torch at Karryl. “Areel practically threw it at me as he pushed us through the portal. He probably thought we might need it.”

With a grin, Karryl breathed a sigh of relief. “It’ll certainly last longer than the dark-sight spell. Unless of course, we’re not going that far.”

Dhoum eased his black-robed bulk around Karryl and shone the light down the narrow tunnel ahead. “‘Fraid we are, but it’s not difficult. Level for most of the way, then downwards.”

With a vigorous shake of the torch the Grrybhñnös set off at his surprisingly fast rolling gait, and Karryl found himself having to step out quite smartly in order to keep up. He soon discovered that conversation was almost impossible, due not only to the tunnel causing their voices to echo but also his unavoidable position as rearguard. After a couple of attempts he gave up and turned his mind to assessing and evaluating everything that had happened in the previous few hours. As Grrybhñnös and magician progressed along the seemingly endless tunnel, the latter’s thoughts began to drift back to Vellethen’s children lying helpless under an enchantment of sleep.

The city huddled under a blanket of silence. At intervals that silence would be shattered by the clatter and thunder of troops riding and marching, grim-faced and resolute, towards the barracks. No housewives moved briskly from shop to shop or chatted in little knots on street corners. Great Market and Little Market stood deserted, their coloured awnings folded away, the permanent stalls dark beneath shrouds of weighted canvas. In a little over a week, Vellethen had changed from a bustling metropolis to a city which was, to all intents and purposes, under siege. The news of its plight, and that of its children, had spread rapidly across the country. Carters and hauliers who would normally stay and patronise the markets and inns after bringing materials and produce into the city, had unloaded their last deliveries with almost indecent haste and left again as fast as they could. Already, trade was beginning to suffer.

No household stood untouched by the enchantment’s tendrils. Senior citizens feared for grandchildren, parents anxiously watched children for the slightest stirring which could mean a return to wakefulness. Their anxiety was only minimally eased by the fact that the stasis spell, laid first by Dhoum and then enhanced by Mordas, Evalin and Kimi, would ensure the children’s condition would not deteriorate.

The anxiety of Harrel and Vana was of a different kind. Although their nephew had been magically whisked away to who knew where, it was his young cousin Marcus who was uppermost in their concerns. Both Harrell and Vana knew that although the boy’s age might work in his favour, the possibility of his being affected was by no means past. This had been brought home to them by a furious knocking on their door, just as they had sat down to supper the previous evening.

Vana hurried over to look out the window. “It’s Devin, but he’s on his own.”

Quickly, she opened the door and Harrell stood up to greet his neighbour.

“Evening Dev. What brings you out this late? Are the children all right?”

Somewhat out of breath, Devin nodded and perched himself on the window seat. “As far as we can tell, there doesn’t seem to be any change. I just thought you should know, considering young Marcus’ age, and all.”

There was a gasp from Vana, and she sat down heavily on her chair. Harrell went to stand beside her and placed his strong hand on her shoulder. Devin sat in silence gazing down at his folded hands.

Harrell gave him a little prompt, his voice low and calm. “What is it that you think we should know, Dev?”

His eyes glistening, Devin fought to hold back tears. “Next door’s lad, young Tawyn, he’s only a week or two younger than Marcus. Well, he fell asleep yesterday afternoon, and he hasn’t woken up. They’re pretty sure it’s got him too.”

Vana’s hands flew to her mouth and she rushed out of the room. The two men heard the door of Marcus’ bedroom being thrown open.

Devin looked up at Harrell. “Seems to me that it started with the babies and it’s working up through to the eldest. Where’s it going to stop?”

Harrell shook his head, unable to think of a sensible reply. Instead, he simply watched the door, waiting for Vana to come back and tell them Marcus hadn’t been affected. Then he realised she was standing in the doorway.

Her face was a mask of grief. “I… I can’t wake him! He’s… he’s such a light sleeper, but I… Ohhhh! Harrell!”

He dashed across the room, just in time to catch her as she fell into a dead faint. Quickly he settled her in the fireside chair and hurried into Marcus’ room, but he knew deep down what he would find. Even being a blood relative of a powerful magician did not impart immunity to this appalling enchantment.

* * *

Vailin paced the floor of his bedchamber, sleep a luxury not available to him. He wished Symon was there to help him straighten out his thoughts. Despite the lateness of the hour, the loyal and irrepressible Jobling stood quietly to one side, constant to his own rule that if the King was awake, then he was awake. Agmar, the Grrybhñnös elder, gazed out of the window into the darkness, seeing nothing as his mind wrestled with the possibilities engendered by the situation in Vellethen.

The young king ceased his pacing and moved to stand beside the tall elder. “If somebody had told me a week ago that this was going to happen, I doubt very much whether I would have believed them.”

Agmar turned his troubled gaze towards the king. “Neither would I. Our best astrologers could only predict the astral conjunction, but hardly the disastrous events which would herald its approach.”

Vailin raised a placatory hand. “No-one is to blame. I’m inclined to think the gods knew something about it, but, as is their way, they’ve elected not to interfere.” He added an afterthought. “Not directly anyway.”

Agmar allowed himself a secretive little smile and turned back to the window. Vailin was no fool. Agmar was certain this young king was beginning to form quite an accurate overall picture from the pieces he had already gathered. Now, in the absence of the two magicians Symon and Karryl, his mettle was about to be tested, even though the Lady Evalin was a daily visitor, and she and Vailin spent many hours in discussion.

With a great sigh, Vailin cast a regretful glance at the large, comfortable and undisturbed bed. “Get my clothes Jobling. I’m afraid there will be no sleep tonight. There’s too much to do, and too much to think about. When I’m dressed, bring some refreshments, or better still, let’s have a full breakfast, in the day room for a change. Then have Jack Parry located. I need to speak with him.”

By the time breakfast was finished there was a faint promise of dawn in the sky. Vailin strode purposefully into his office. To his surprise his secretary Master Gibb was already there, penning replies to various letters. A pile of unopened messenger packets rested on the corner of his desk. Vailin picked them up and shuffled through them, guessing by the seals they bore, what the contents might be.

Blotting the letter he had just written, the secretary placed it in a simple wooden tray to await the king’s signature. “Master Jack Parry is waiting in the ante-room, sire.”

Vailin frowned. “Let him cool his heels a little longer. He was to report to me as soon as he returned, not attend to some business on his own agenda.”

Unperturbed by this little outburst, Master Gibb nodded and reached for one of the unopened packets. “That’s as may be, Your Majesty. It would seem however, that Jobling was fortunate enough to find Master Parry at the docks, having just disembarked and taking breakfast. I doubt if there’s a ship’s movement that Jobling doesn’t know about. He brought Master Parry straight here.”

Vailin grinned a little sheepishly. “You’d better bring him in then. I think my brain must be getting a little hot already.”

The character who accompanied the secretary into Vailin’s office would not have earned a second glance. A man of indeterminate age, his plain everyday clothes fitted comfortably on a medium height, medium build body. The man had ordinariness down to a fine art. He wore no hat, and his light brown hair was brushed loosely back from his forehead.

As Jack Parry executed the perfect bow, Vailin smiled to himself. He knew that behind the bland expression on the slightly oval face lay a quick and calculating mind. Vailin I had called him ‘the best spymaster this country ever had.’ Vailin II was inclined to agree. Motioning the spymaster to a chair, Vailin settled himself opposite. Jack hitched his right ankle onto his left knee, and thoughtfully stroked his chin.

Vailin leaned forward. “I trust you’ve discovered something that can provide us with a way out of this increasingly hostile situation.”

Pursing his lips, Jack gauged the king’s mood. The intelligence he had gathered surprised even him. As he had been abroad for some weeks, he wasn’t sure how much Vailin already knew.

From inside his salt-stained jacket, Jack drew out a thin sheaf of folded vellum and held it forward. “This is the report I wrote while I was on board ship. For security reasons I have left out a few details. At times like these it would seem even walls can talk. In these days of evil spells, we can never be certain who is friend and who is foe.” He gave a wry smile. “But I’ve managed to get a pretty good idea.”

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands and waited, offering nothing more in the way of information, while Vailin perused the report.

After re-reading a couple of lines, Vailin placed the report on a side table, carefully securing it with a coloured glass paper-weight. “There doesn’t seem to be anything in there that we don’t already know. Now you can let me have the bits you’ve left out.”

Jack studied his square, stubby hands for a moment then folded them in his lap. “An old acquaintance of mine just happens to be the Telorian Ambassador in Nebir. He owed me a few favours, so I looked him up.”

Vailin chuckled. “Short, portly Percival! He was a real flea in my father’s vest. That’s why he packed him off to Naboria. His infrequent reports are, for the most part, long and tedious, which reminds me. I haven’t heard from him recently.”

Jack nodded. “That’s the man. Married a Nebiri widow woman with two children quite a while back, and has had two more by her. They’re too young to be useful, but the woman’s previous two will do anything for the stuff that jingles.”

Vailin raised an eyebrow and grimaced. “Spare me the details Jack. What salient facts have you managed to gather?”

The spymaster settled both feet on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Percy’s stepson has a black-skinned crinkle-haired pal who lives with his grandfather in the poorer quarter of Nebir. It seems that the boy helps out at the local livery stables and that’s how they met. Like most boys who have started taking an interest in the opposite sex, the stepson found the lure of a couple of gold pieces quite irresistible.”

Vailin looked slightly bemused. “Exactly where is this going Jack? I need something to tell my ministers.”

The spymaster took a deep breath and stared over Vailin’s shoulder. “Right. Erm… it turns out that the younger boy’s grandfather is some kind of prophet, and knows somebody in the so-called Lost City of Vedra. What it boils down to is… we have an ally on the inside!”

Vailin leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Do we indeed? Does this mysterious ally have a name, and how do we contact him?”

Jack gave his king a lop-sided grin. “That’s just it. We don’t. All I could find out was that he belongs to a tribe of desert warriors called the Jadhrahin. Somehow he’s mixed up with a certain Ghian, whose name seems to be cropping up more frequently than is healthy. The old man gave me a prophecy which I can’t make head or tail of. Then he said that ‘all the players would be in place for the final game.’ I’ve written the prophecy down, word for word. When I asked the old man about it, he didn’t even remember saying it. If he knew what it meant then he didn’t tell me.”

The spymaster fumbled around in another pocket of his jacket, and produced a tightly folded, yellowish looking wad. Carefully he picked it open before handing the crumpled, ragged-edged square to Vailin.

The young king pinched one corner between thumb and forefinger, and held the closely written piece in the air. “What is this?”

Jack looked slightly embarrassed. “It’s cured goatskin Your Majesty. It’s all I could find at the time to write on. I found some black stuff in a bottle that I thought was ink, but it turns out it was…”

Vailin started up out of his chair. “Enough! Perhaps when you write your memoirs you can indulge yourself with the more unsavoury details. Now, what does this tell us?”

Taking the small piece of parchment over to the window, Vailin held it in the first rays of the morning sun. The words he read left him baffled.

When three stars dance together

the lost are found and the lost

will be lost again and those they

lost will rise anew. The lord of the city

will prevail and a star will fall taking

many. The golden one will be revealed.

Returning to his chair, Vailin gazed at the prophecy. “Do you think this is a genuine prophecy Jack, or just an old man’s ramblings?”

The spymaster’s blue eyes looked troubled. “Well, the locals say he’s been right about lots of things for lots of years, and it almost seemed as if he’d been waiting for me for a long time. He said something like ‘now the two pale ones have come, I can rest.’ The oddest thing is, the old man died two days later. When the local chiefs went to clear out his hut, it had vanished and the clearing where it stood was covered in jungle, just like it had never been there. The boy moved in with Percy and his family, as though he knew what was coming as well. Beats me.”

Vailin nodded. “Me too at the moment. Let me read your report again Jack, and leave this ‘prophecy’ with me. I’ll send for you if I have any more questions. Thank you.”

Jack remained seated. “There is just one more thing, Your Majesty. I have a feeling it could possibly be significant.”

Folding his hands, Vailin leaned back in his chair. “Well, your information has been reliable so far Jack. What is it?”

Jack thought for a moment as if trying to find the right words. “This sleeping enchantment I heard about when I got back… I think I’ve got a fairly good idea where to lay hands on the perpetrator.”

Impressed, Vailin raised an eyebrow. “That was quick. You’ve hardly been back a few hours.”