Mage Prime (Book 2) (5 page)

Magnor raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Someday soon I will have to show you how to refine what you seem to be able to do quite naturally. Now we must be on our way. Lady Mordas, I would graciously ask that you care for these two rags of humanity until such time as you deem them fit to rejoin those of us of like persuasion.”

Symon and Karryl each managed to force a laugh, but Mordas’s light giggle was quite genuine. Bidding the two elders goodnight, although it was very nearly morning, she closed the door behind them.

Two weeks later Symon’s hands had healed naturally, sufficiently for Mordas to weave a healing spell over the remaining superficial damage. Symon’s brave and selfless act in trying to get the badly burned soldier to healing had nevertheless left a permanent legacy. The palms of his hands now bore a pattern of black marbling etched into his skin by the hot stinking fluid ejected from the grelfon’s throat. The irrepressible little magician assured everyone that it was of no consequence. After a couple of days back at the apartment during which he gave the impression of not doing very much, he insisted things get back to normal. He felt his first duty was to make as full a report as possible to King Vailin, who had sent him an encouraging little note. To that end he took Karryl along with him.

It was an hour after sunrise on a cool but pleasant early spring morning. A few old dry winter-brown leaves swirled in busy little eddies around their feet as they took the long way round, through the palace grounds, to the Royal apartments. Symon was dressed in a pale grey robe of soft wool, a simple thick cord of twisted blue cotton around his waist, and his usual thick-soled sandals. Not having taken the final examinations which would confirm him as a fully qualified magician, Karryl was not yet entitled to wear a robe. Instead he had chosen dark green slim-fitting trousers tucked into brown leather calf-length boots, and a cap-shouldered russet tunic fastened up the front with black lacings. He was not oblivious to the admiring and wistful glances from the occasional maid-servant or kitchen wench seizing the opportunity for some fresh air as they went about their early morning duties. He wondered, smiling to himself, whether they would be as interested if he were wearing the distinctive robe which would mark him out as a magician.

His pleasant reverie was abruptly interrupted by his master and mentor scurrying along trying to keep up with the long-paced stride of his apprentice. “I think it’s about time you began to learn that there’s more to being a Court Magician than casting a few spells as and when required. And before you start to protest, the remarkable things you have done both recently and in the past have not gone unnoticed. Now the furore has died down, even if only temporarily, people have moved on to other things. However, we as Court Magicians have a potential situation on our hands and we have to consider how best to deal with it. Look, can you ease up just a bit? My little legs are going like bees’ wings!”

Karryl’s face split in a wide grin and he obligingly reduced his long-legged pace to a saunter. “So, are we intending to discuss battle tactics with King Vailin, or do you have something more devious in mind?”

Symon gave his apprentice a side-long glance. “Certainly we’re going to discuss tactics, and not only with His Majesty. This is going to be a full-blown council. Every minister, both governmental and religious will all be expecting to have their say.”

Karryl frowned as he returned his mentor’s glance. “So, what are we going to be there for? Advisors? Eyewitnesses?”

Symon nodded vigorously. “Both, most definitely. I would however, ask one thing as a favour to me.”

“Of course. You only have to name it.”

Symon made a doubtful sounding noise in his throat. “Please, don’t speak until you’re asked to. Hopefully this will be a properly conducted council, not a free-for-all shouting match.”

The little magician stopped and looked up at his tall apprentice. “Mind you, I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised if that’s how it ended up. Now, if we cut down that little path just there, we can come out by the gate in front of the Mages’ Entrance.”

* * *

As they approached the heavily gilded door to the Council Room, Karryl recognised one of the guards from the squad which had accompanied him on the night they had killed the third grelfon. With a perfectly straight face the guard gave Karryl a slow wink before coming to attention, his halberd upright and central to his body. The young magician gave the man a brief nod of acknowledgement as Symon flicked his hand in the direction of the doors. Preceded by a soft click, the doors swung ponderously open and the two magicians entered the Council Chamber. Silence fell over the room like a shroud as they made their way towards the front. As Court Magician, Symon was automatically given a place close to the King. It was to this that he headed, barely pausing to respond to the few greetings he received. Karryl also offered little more than a smile and a nod. In a minute or two they had taken their places on the high dais, close to what King Vailin light-heartedly called his ‘bargaining throne’. Once they had settled the hubbub of voices returned. Of momentary interest, their arrival was soon passed over for other topics of conversation. From his elevated position Karryl was able to see everyone in the room and began scrutinising the small number of faces he recognised, hoping to gauge their mood.

Feeling a gentle tap on his shoulder, he turned his head to see Symon getting to his feet. A pace away stood a resplendently liveried footman, his expression making it quite obvious that they should follow. With a last quick look around the room, Karryl pushed himself to his feet. Symon and the footman had already disappeared behind a heavy, red velvet curtain to the rear of the dais. Karryl hurried after. They stepped into a small ante-room, very similar to the one in which Karryl had signed his Oath of Allegiance and eaten his fill of pies over four years ago. A small wooden panelled door to their right swung noiselessly open. The two magicians bowed their heads respectfully as King Vailin entered, accompanied by Agmar. After dismissing the footman, Vailin motioned to a pair of richly upholstered chairs.

Seating himself in another, the young monarch indicated that Agmar should take a fourth. “Let’s not stand on ceremony. We wanted to see you two before the meeting starts. As you well know, Agmar has been using all means at his disposal to get to the bottom of this dreadful business concerning the return of the grelfons. Only in the last few minutes have I learned what he has discovered. It affects you both directly, and you Karryl in particular.”

Vailin sat back and indicated that the grey-robed elder should continue. Agmar also leaned back, resting his hands on the carved arms of his chair. “We have very recently discovered that what we all feared is indeed true. A staunch ally of ours who has powers beyond even our comprehension, has agreed after much discussion to use his quite remarkable abilities to assist us. The approximate location of the city of Vedra is now known to us, and in all likelihood it is there that the grelfons are being bred and trained.

“The people of the city are known to be followers of a cult dedicated to a darkly aligned god they call Zo’ad. It is the fervent desire of these Vedrans to do the perceived will of their god. This has resulted in the return of the grelfons, aided in no small part by the illicit use of the abhorrent Vedric discipline. It would also seem that a race of desert-dwelling warriors known as the Jadhrahin are closely connected in some way.”

Karryl locked eyes with the softly spoken elder. “What I’d like to know is, why is Vedra doing this and how is Ghian involved?”

Symon’s mouth tightened and he frowned at Karryl. Agmar acknowledged the question with a slight nod. “I was coming to that. The reason is the same one they had in the distant past, when they were defeated by the first Mage-Prime.”

Symon, who had been listening intently with his head supported by one hand, sat bolt upright in his chair. “To the best of my knowledge the underlying reason for the War of Power was never established.”

A glow of near triumph in his blue eyes, Agmar rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. “Then you will have no objection to my filling the gap in your knowledge, Master Symon.”

The little magician raised his hands in acquiescence. “None at all. I just wish I’d brought a notebook.”

The almost gleeful expression on Karryl’s face told him straight away that he’d left himself wide open. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember it all and you can write it down later, when you won’t have to hurry.”

Symon gave his apprentice a flat look, wincing inwardly at this oblique reminder of Karryl’s ability to remember everything he read or heard. He gave a brief nod.

Agmar continued. “As you all know, Vellethen is a very ancient city. Much of its original foundations lie deep beneath the present one, even deeper than the old city in which the War of Power was fought. Consequently, all attempts to reach those ancient foundations have failed.”

Karryl leaned forward, his brows knitting in a thoughtful frown. “Could there be another reason apart from natural curiosity, for wanting to reach the original city? Is that the reason the War of Power happened in the first place?”

No-one spoke, and Karryl was certain he could feel Agmar’s eyes boring into his skull. “Did I say something?”

Agmar tapped his fore-fingers against his lower lip. “Only the same thing as our most learned scholars have recently been surmising. You see, it is almost a thousand years since the War of Power. According to our astrologers and astronomers, when that time comes the same stars will be in conjunction as were then. Therefore we are inclined to believe that when this occurs history is bound to repeat itself.”

Karryl looked slightly perplexed. “But that still doesn’t tell us what it is about Vellethen that’s so important to them. If we don’t find out somehow or other, what’s to stop the city being destroyed again?”

Once more, silence fell over the room as the awful truth hit home. King Vailin broke the palpable hush with the question which Karryl and Symon were almost afraid to ask. “How long do we have before this ill-fated occurrence?”

Agmar didn’t reply immediately but regarded each one of them in turn as if assessing their individual strengths. “By your calendar the conjunction will occur next year, on the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month.”

Karryl did a quick mental calculation. “That’s exactly sixteen months. Mid-summer, and usually the hottest and driest month of the year.”

He gave Symon a wry smile. “That doesn’t give us much time to discover what they’re after. At least if it does come to another War of Power I shan’t have to worry about keeping warm.”

Symon shook his head in mock despair, but there was a hard glint in his grey eyes as he turned to the king. “How much are we going to tell our esteemed ministers out there?”

Vailin shot Agmar a brief questioning glance. The grey-robed elder fingered the large blue jewel he wore then gave the young monarch a brief nod.

Vailin stood up, the others hastily following suit. “Gentlemen, we tell them everything. They’re bound to find out sooner or later. At least if they hear it from us they’ll have the story right. Now, if you’re ready shall we go and face the music?”

The steadily rising clamour of impatience reached them through the heavy thickness of the curtain. As the liveried footman stepped through and announced the entrance of King Vailin, silence cut like a knife through the jabber of voices. Cocking a quizzical eyebrow at the others, Vailin ducked through the curtain, crossed the dais and settled himself on his throne, followed by Symon who sat to his right, Karryl to Symon’s right and Agmar to the king’s left. Satin, silk and velvet whispered and rustled as the assembled ministers, the majority of them elderly, straightened up from deep bows of respect. Although seats were placed around the sides of the room, the majority of those present chose to perambulate, moving from group to group, exchanging comments and opinions.

Not one for impressive ceremony, Vailin leaned forward, crossed his legs at the ankles and stared hard at the small sea of faces which gazed expectantly up at him. “Good morning gentlemen. I will come straight to the point. We are hurtling inexorably towards a major crisis. With your invaluable support and co-operation, together we can develop a working plan to deal with it.”

An attendant, quietly and unobtrusively walking the room, raised a little blue flag and called out in a clear, resonant voice. “Minister Allyn has a question, your Majesty.”

Vailin looked across the room and groaned inwardly as he saw who had collared the attendant. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, but gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.

A slightly built, sallow faced man with thinning grey hair and ridiculously large ears, Allyn’s voice was high-pitched and abrasive as he poked a dismissive gesture towards the raised dais. “If any of this involves these so-called magicians then I, for one, wish to register a protest!”

To their credit and no less than Vailin expected, this outburst elicited no reaction from Symon, Karryl or Agmar. There were however, loud rumbles of agreement from various quarters of the room.

Vailin held up a placatory hand. “I realise that some of you have a quite marked aversion to the use of magic, but this particular situation makes it imperative that we fight like with like. Those of you who have studied the history of our ancient city may be aware of the magically contrived creatures, once thought to be extinct, known as grelfons. No doubt the news is now out that three of these evil and dangerous creatures have recently been slain within the boundaries of our palace.”

Judging by the response to this last revelation, the news most certainly was not out. The room erupted. A few of the ministers headed for the doors, only to find their way barred by crossed halberds held firmly in the iron grip of stern-faced guards.

Vailin rose quickly to his feet. The roar which issued from his mouth was impressively stentorian. “Enough!”

The threatened melée was reduced to a pushing match as Vailin folded his arms and looked down at his unhappy ministers. “It would appear that many of you are not taking your ministerial duties as seriously as I personally would like. You have all received files on this matter. Apparently you have chosen to ignore them. Therefore you may now remain here while I heap upon you such unpalatable facts as I deem fit.”

Deciding not to hide his smirk behind his hand, Karryl let it stay for all to see. He turned to Symon who, to his surprise, was also grinning widely. They both looked across the width of Vailin’s throne at Agmar. The elder was stoically surveying the proceedings, his hand loosely wrapped around the blue jewel he wore. Everyone having settled to his satisfaction, Vailin sat down again just as the thunder of grounding halberds announced the arrival of a new presence in the room. All faces turned towards the open doors.

As one, Vailin and the three magicians rose to their feet, and Karryl openly studied the tall woman who now walked with grace and serenity into the Council Chamber. As if on command, the ministers cleared an aisle through their ranks as she progressed down the room, her bearing indicating to all present that she was obviously and unashamedly aware of the power which Karryl could sense was at her disposal.

Next to grasp his attention as she drew closer was the colour of her eyes, such a deep intense blue, he almost felt he could fall into them. Although she seemed to be a woman of middle years, her long dark hair worn in a thick and complex braid, showed no sign of silver or grey. The air of serene wisdom which accompanied her spoke of someone far older. Karryl felt as if he had known her all his life. He ventured a sideways glance at his young monarch. The love and emotion written on Vailin’s face far outshone the words of any poet or minstrel. Nevertheless, the woman stepped close to the dais.

Kneeling on one knee she bowed her head, not rising until Vailin spoke. “Dear Lady Evalin. You are most welcome. Please, come up here, beside me.”

In the time it took her to ascend the three steps onto the dais, an alert footman had furnished another chair. Symon and Karryl moved along one, and the Lady Evalin seated herself next to the king. Karryl raised a questioning eyebrow at Symon.

The little magician leaned across and whispered, a half smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “I’ll tell you later, if you haven’t found out by then.”

After a few quietly murmured words with Vailin, the Lady Evalin rose to her feet. Karryl was impressed. Having reached his full growth, he had topped out at just over six feet tall, and he was sure that this amazing woman could look him in the eye. He found himself unable to suppress a grin of surprise as Evalin turned and gave him a broad wink. Her long indigo robe swished as she stepped forward to cast her gaze over the muttering occupants of the room. With undisguised interest Karryl watched the varied reactions of Vailin’s gathering of ministers as she addressed them.

Her voice had a clear carrying quality, with a musically accented lilt which Karryl found captivating. “Gentlemen. For the benefit of those of you who might be at a loss as to who I might be, I am the Lady Evalin of Arinel. As you are no doubt aware, that is a large and beautiful island situated some miles off your own coast. The reason why I am here is to attempt to convince the non-believers and disapprovers among you that there
is
magic, and that the problem you are all surely facing can only be met with magic.”

A loud “Pah!” carried from somewhere near the back of the room. Almost immediately Evalin located the perpetrator, fixing him with a gimlet stare. “Would you not be liking a little demonstration, or should we be thinking that your loyalty to your king is perhaps a little suspect?”

A gasp rippled round the room, even as another dissenter expressed his opinion a little too loudly. “Blasted audacity!”

Evalin’s mouth twitched as she looked over her shoulder at the young king. Legs crossed at the ankles he was leaning back in his throne, his hands resting lightly on the carved and gilded arms as he quietly took it all in. His eyes bore a knowing glint as he gave her the briefest of nods. Of all the persons present in this room, only he and Symon were truly aware of the skills and power which Evalin possessed. As it was blatantly obvious that a small percentage of the ministers were opposed to, and refused to acknowledge the existence of, anything magical, it was felt the time was now ripe for them to be whipped into line. Her head turning slowly from left to right as if looking round the room, Evalin stood straight-backed and perfectly still. Karryl felt the familiar prickling of his skin, although this time the touch seemed softer and warmer. Once again he was impressed.

Suddenly, they were there. The softly shining beings which hovered at shoulder height about the room were, by anyone’s reckoning, beautiful. Each wore a short white pleated kirtle to preserve their modesty, but there were other attributes to confirm the gender of their otherwise naked bodies. Whirring, shimmering wings circulated the heady scent of wild flowers through the air, as the two feet tall individuals darted and soared around the room, seemingly singling out those as yet un-persuaded, and peering into their shocked faces. A number of the ministers laughed out loud with delight and held out their hands which, to their further pleasure, the diminutive sprites briefly grasped in both their own tiny hands before moving on. Symon was on his feet, his rapturous smile a twin to Evalin’s own as she beckoned to the airborne beings. One by one they darted towards her. Karryl counted twelve as they alighted and clustered around her and the group on the dais, before going to each one in turn and reaching up to gently touch their faces. Then, as fast as the blink of an eye they were gone, leaving behind a lingering aroma of honeysuckle and spring blossoms which Karryl found tantalisingly familiar.

Evalin lifted her arms in appeal to the ministers, some of whom were chattering excitedly while others stood in stunned silence. “Would you be after being convinced now, or will it take something else to prove it to you?”

The rich tenor of one of the younger ministers carried across the room. “If it’s going to be as good as that, please carry on!”

Lowering her arms, Evalin stepped down from the dais and onto the main floor. “Minister Venson. As one who merely condones magic, would you be willing to aid me in a further small demonstration?”

The minister moved to stand in front of her and sketched a bow. “Pleased to be of assistance Lady Evalin.”

The other ministers pushed forward for a closer view of the action. Favouring the preening Venson with a little smile, Evalin held her arms out straight and placed them on his shoulders. “To be sure, that’s a fine weskit you’re wearing. Look at all those costly buttons! Now, don’t you think the nice minister Allyn over there would be liking those on his boring old plain black one?”

Venson looked down his nose. “Maybe he would, but the old fart isn’t having them.”

Evalin raised one dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Is that a fact now?”

Allyn bristled visibly. Uttering two short, sharp words the tall mage flicked one hand towards him and the other towards Venson. With a staccato popping sound the buttons on their respective waistcoats changed owners. Allyn stared down at his in amazement. Venson’s lip curled in disgust at the plain horn buttons with which his own expensively embroidered waistcoat was now adorned.

Pressing her fists against her hips Evalin surveyed her handiwork. “Well. Would you look at that now!” Turning on her heel, Evalin strode back and up onto the dais to cast a deep blue withering gaze on those gathered below. “Now, gentlemen, perhaps we can get down to business.”