The Flight of the Griffin (29 page)

It had all started innocently enough; they’d been escorted into the throne room of the palace to find the sultan, seated on a large cushion raised upon a platform. He was deep in conversation with three advisors, one of whom was this funny little man. They had bowed deeply and Quint had started to speak.

‘Your Majesty, we have come here...’ Although Quint had got no further, a guard had struck him from behind and everyone had started screaming, it was as if the world had suddenly gone mad. As Quint lay prone on the floor the guard had lifted his spear as if to stab him, which had been enough for Loras. Before the guard had time to strike down, Loras had frozen him with a simple wave of his hand. He’d changed the heat in the guard’s body for something opposite, cold, and the guard had literally frozen to the spot.

Mahra, by this time, was crouching on all fours, a Black Panther, teeth bared and growling, prepared to leap at the other guards who had at first rushed in but were now scrabbling to back out. The magician had stepped forward and thrown a ball of fire directly at Loras who had merely swatted it aside, which was why Loras was now prepared for a duel, his emotions already at war.

The magician lifted his robes around his skinny legs and leapt high into the air with a strange ululating cry,
‘aaaaya-ha-ha-ha!’
He came down not three steps from Loras and pushed his hands out, and a thick wall of air knocked Loras to the ground.

‘Wow!’ said Loras instantly understanding what the magician had done. ‘That was great, and so easy!’ The magician shrieked, formed a flaming sword out of thin air and ran forward, his robes flapping wildly and yelling his strange shrill war cry. Loras simply formed a similar wall of air, which the magician bounced off, landing on his bottom; the sword disappeared. Loras grinned down at him and held out his hand.

‘Can I help you up?’ he offered. ‘How did you make the sword? It was really good!’ The magician started spluttering with rage and slapped Loras’s hand aside. The other advisor jumped down; a regal looking Dhurbar with a forked beard and a huge curved sword. Quint, who had made it back to his feet, drew his own sword, ready to do battle.

‘I’m with you, Loras,’ he muttered, swaying a little as he sized up his opponent. Seeing things were starting to get out of hand, the sultan stood and bellowed in Freyan,
‘Enough hold fast!’
and everybody stopped. The sultan scowled down from his platform. ‘Who are you that brings madness to my court? Children shouldn’t travel without an adult.’

Quint by now had recovered most of his wits but was still staggering slightly from the blow.

‘May I speak, your highness?’ he rubbed the back of his head, checking his hand for signs of blood.

‘When I give you leave young man, then you may speak. Until I give leave, it is an insult. Yes...now you may speak, but do so quickly before my magician and my men are allowed to kill you.’ He glanced uncertainly at his magician, whom he’d believed invincible, right up until he’d seen him foiled by a small boy.

He waved his guards back and sat down, Mahra resumed her human form and Loras grinned at the magician who stared at him shaking in anger, his eyes promising the exchange wasn’t over.

‘So who are you? Speak,’ said the sultan with a scowl. Quint spoke. He spoke of their regret at causing any insult to the sultan or his court and then he spoke of their Quest and the skulls they sought in the name of the Source, and of the balance that was necessary to stop the world from tipping into Chaos. When he finished speaking some time later, the court was silent and the sultan was sitting stroking his beard thoughtfully.

‘I must think on this story. My men will take you to rooms and you will be guests of my palace. Please do not attempt to leave without my permission, it would be most insulting.’ He clapped his hands and the guards formed up and escorted them out of the room.

They were taken to a suite of rooms high up in the palace that gave a good view of the gardens where they’d landed earlier;
The
Griffin
was no longer there but Loras wasn’t concerned.

‘She’ll come back when we call,’ he said dismissing Quint’s concerns. ‘This is an incredible place! How did the magician make that sword? That’s what I want to know,’ he continued excitedly. ‘I wonder if I’ll get the chance to speak to him?’ Mahra and Quint exchanged glances.

‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Quint, addressing Mahra.

‘Well, without the book we have no direction, so we just have to wait for Pardigan and Tarent to turn up.’ She sighed. ‘I just hope they’re all right.’

****

Pardigan was all right, but Tarent’s day was taking a bad turn as he watched his friend approach Mustep. Why can he never sit back and keep quiet? He fumed.

Every eye in the tent was on Pardigan as he walked towards Mustep, wiping juice from his face.

‘Have you finished with your party tricks or are you going to do something really clever now?’ Mustep frowned at Pardigan’s words.

‘My lords, our friend Mustep here is indeed a great knife thrower but then he is, I believe, using trick knives.’

A murmur of voices filled the tent. ‘What are you doing, boy?’ hissed the knife thrower.

‘Are they trick knives? How do they work?’ asked Azif, showing more interest now than at any other time in the spectacle.

Pardigan ignored Mustep and pulled one of the knives from the board behind him.

‘Well I think they’re trick knives, let’s see.’ He picked up a large melon from the closest table and hurled it over his head. A heartbeat later he sent the knife flashing over his shoulder, making it obvious to all that he hadn’t taken aim. The knife caught the melon at the top of its flight and split it in two. One half fell to the floor, with the knife stuck in it, the other half fell and landed on Mustep’s head. The room erupted in laughter and Pardigan turned to see Mustep shaking away melon pieces and wiping juice from his face, glaring at him. Pardigan gave him a big grin.

‘I’m not sure what you did but make a joke of me boy and you make an enemy of me as well. You’ll do well to watch your back, for one day I’ll come back and I
will
have my revenge.’ He stomped off out of the tent to derisive hoots and laughter.

‘Come, sit, boy, bring your friend and talk with me.’ Azif beckoned them over to where he sat and room was made for the two boys.

‘You’re going to get us into a lot of trouble one day, Pardigan,’ hissed Tarent as he sat down. ‘Now one of the greatest knifemen in the kingdom is going to be out to get you.’

‘Us, Tarent, I’m sure he’ll want to get both of us,’ said Pardigan grinning. ‘But at least we’re going to get to Dhurban now, aren’t we, and anyhow, he’s not the greatest knifeman in the Kingdom, I am! The book saw to that.’

As they were welcomed into the caravan - Pardigan was delighted while Tarent felt a deep unease that he tried not to show.

We may be going to Dhurban, but at what cost? he thought as he watched his friend talking with Azif. Why couldn’t I have gone with Mahra and the others? I’m sure they’re having a far easier time.

****

It was two days before the caravan got underway amid a well-organised chaos of movement. The stabling grounds had been a hive of activity with tents being disassembled, people shouting, horses being saddled, camels being loaded and several covered platforms or palanquins as they were called, hastily constructed. Each palanquin was swung between two camels and then draped in a colourful mixture of silk and canvas to protect the occupants from the boiling sun and harsh conditions of the desert. Pardigan and Tarent had been persuaded to purchase the use of one of these and because of their newfound popularity with Azif; they rode second in line behind him. The other fare-paying passengers were towards the back of the long line; either in palanquins if they had sufficient coin, or on camels or horses exposed to the heat and dust if they didn’t.

‘This is horrible,’ moaned Pardigan, lying back on the pile of many coloured cushions that filled the swaying platform. ‘Oh Source, I feel sick.’ He pulled a cushion over his head. They were only halfway through their first morning, barely started on the three-day journey across the wide expanse of the desert and both boys were already regretting the experience.

‘If you hadn’t found such favour with Azif then we could have just hired a couple of camels and ridden instead,
that
I could have dealt with, but this is ridiculous,’ said Tarent falling back as the camels negotiated a hillock and the platform jolted up. Pardigan scrambled to the edge, nearly falling out in the process, and threw up noisily over the side.

‘Three days, we’re never going to last three days like this,’ he gasped back over his shoulder.

Tarent stared at him. ‘Serves you right for showing off; it’s me I feel sorry for.’

The caravan moved along at a slow plodding pace across the dunes, negotiating a route between crumbling ancient mountains and across the seas of flat sandy expanse. The palanquins creaked, the harnesses with their bells jingled and sometimes the camels called to each other, their strange grunting cry passing up and down the line. The only other sound was the occasional call of the Dhurbar as they urged each other on but for the most part, the camel train was silent as man and beast did their best to deal with the ever-increasing heat as they went deeper and deeper into the desert.

****

After two days of waiting as prisoners in their rooms, a messenger arrived with an armed escort and bowed deeply.

‘The great sultan regrets the inconvenience of your waiting here and begs you indulge him a little longer while he confers with his advisors on this and several other important matters. If there is anything that I can get for you, please tell me and it shall be yours.’

‘We just wish to speak with the sultan again. We don’t want more of these fruits or pastries.’ Quint kicked a tray of delicacies into the air and Mahra moved forward, resting a hand on his arm.

‘Calm yourself, Quint, this does us no good.’ She turned to the messenger.

‘I apologise for my friend's behaviour, he is a little…frustrated about our journey being delayed.’ The messenger bowed again as he backed towards the door.

‘It is quite understandable but regrettably unavoidable. I am sure you will be called for soon.’ The door closed with a click and a turn of the lock.

‘I’m sorry but this is driving me mad.’ Quint stomped off to the balcony and gazed out over the grounds of the palace and into the city beyond. The sun was beating down without any mercy upon the city as it had done on every single day in its history; as if trying to prove that a city had no right to be here in its desert. It had never rained in Dhurban.

‘Somewhere out there is the skull we’re searching for, is there no other way for us to locate it?’ asked Quint quietly as Mahra moved up beside him.

‘The book said that the sultan’s daughter would tell and then guide us down through hell. We have to wait and wait and then wait longer if that’s what’s necessary.’ Mahra reminded him. Quint stared at her.

‘You're right! We don’t need to see the sultan again at all, it’s his daughter we want, yet I haven’t noticed more than two girls since we got here. There were none sitting with the sultan, so how is she meant to find us and guide us anywhere?’ He glanced up. ‘You have to go flying, Mahra.
We
can’t get out of here and make contact, but
you
can.’ Mahra edged away, shaking her head.

‘We’ve been told to remain in our rooms; I don’t think they’d take too kindly to finding me missing, do you?’

Quint stared at her, while Loras put down the large book he’d been reading.

‘He’s got a point, Mahra. I mean how is this daughter meant to know about us or know she has to tell us this vital bit of information? Why don’t you go and look about, see what this palace is all about?’

After a moment she nodded. ‘All right, I’ll fly tonight. Owls don’t fly during the day, but to be honest owls don’t spend an awful lot of time in deserts either, at least not barn owls.’ She walked over to a pile of cushions and leaping forward turned into the cat and curled up, falling instantly to sleep.

‘It does make sense,’ said Loras in a vain attempt at appeal, but the cat didn’t stir. She’d be like this now until dark; the boys had witnessed several of her sulks and this was one of them. Loras went back to his book and Quint returned to watching the city, the shimmer of heat that covered it and the distant mountains beyond.

****

Chapter 20

What’s
A Mudlark?

Figures shuffled in the gloom, large dark silhouettes framed against the red glow that emanated from molten pools of lava. The walls of the cavern oozed a thick syrupy liquid while sulphurous fumes belched continuously from the pools, making the atmosphere thick and fetid. The only sounds as the gathering assembled, were the hiss and burps of the lava and the rasping breath of everything in attendance.

The meeting was being held for the elite of the brethren and Belial’s nostrils flared with pride. Pride at the mighty that had gathered at his word and in delight at breathing the thick heavy gasses of the demon realm, rather than the tasteless sweet nothing of the realm he had so recently departed. He gazed out into the gloom and saw the shadows gathering, eyes glowing red in the steamy atmosphere. Judging that the meeting was almost complete, he brought a large stone down upon the altar rock, sparks accompanying each crash that echoed around the cavern.