War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (36 page)

Swiftly Miqhal cleared his mind and drew in immense amounts of power, calling on every natural force available to him. Air, light, energy and gravity, all responded to his demands, combining in the most tremendous spell of dislocation he had ever woven. Shutting out the encroaching threat, the Jadhra chieftain tied off the weave, every drop of his mental and physical strength poured into controlling the volatile construct. Narrowing his focus, he thrust both arms out in front of him palms forward and barked three sharp words of command. At that vital moment, Jaknu swung his head round and nudged Miqhal in the back. Suddenly and irretrievably the spell was misdirected ground-wards, while high above his head newly arrived Grelfi urged their screaming beasts into a menacing, slowly descending circle, cutting off any chance of escape.

Miqhal ignored them. The spell released, and with no certainty of what the outcome of the misdirected spell would be, he leapt onto Jaknu’s knee, burying his face in the dense blue-black plumage of the great beast’s shoulder. A long moment of silence followed. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the ground began to tremble. Their intensity rapidly increasing, the tremors rippled and roared, shifting the sand under and around the massive heap of Grelfine carnage. With a heavy, sickening squelch the mangled pile toppled ponderously sideways, freeing Jaknu’s tail and crushing the head of the still living and struggling grelfon into the sand beneath. Scrambling onto Jaknu’s back, Miqhal snatched up reins and secured himself in the harness. With barely sufficient power remaining, he prepared to translocate. Suddenly, with a deafening crack and thunderous roar, the desert’s face opened. A yards-thick centuries-old crust of compacted sand broke away, disclosing a fifty-foot-long yawning crevice beneath their feet.

Like a ravenous subterranean monster, the deep chasm swallowed Jaknu and Miqhal, along with nearly six thousand pounds of mutilated grelfon. The bulk of the dune in which Jaknu had landed poured down after them, tons of sand disappearing into the yawning void with a tremendous slithering hiss. As the circling Grelfi dropped swiftly down to survey the scene, in a final diffusive burst Miqhal’s spell slammed the edges of the crevice together. By the time the first grelfon landed, the swirling aftermath of Miqhal’s spell had obliterated all trace. Thirty miles away, in the thick, blood-tainted atmosphere of the black Vedran temple, the queen grelfon pointed her muzzle high into the darkness and began a long pitiful keening.

Toppling sideways, they plummeted in an accelerating rush. In seconds the whole tumbling chaotic mass had plunged with a thunderous roar into the dark torrent of an ancient underground river racing two hundred feet below. Shocked by the sudden immersion in icy water, suspended head down beneath Jaknu and held fast by the harness, Miqhal quelled his panic, urging Jaknu to strike for the surface. In a supreme effort the huge creature twisted his long heavy body, finning hard with one partly open wing against the increasing pressure. The action had disastrous results. Suddenly caught in negative buoyancy and the surge of the swift under-current, Jaknu’s shoulder bounced hard against the river’s wall. Thrust out by the impact into the main flow, he kicked hard and threw his body over. Now he had room to spread his wings, he forced them through the water and flew upwards. Breaking surface he drew great gulps of chilled air deep into his lungs and spread his full span across the flow.

Comparatively stable but still being swept along in the darkness, he focussed on the waves of pain Miqhal was attempting in vain to suppress. “
Are you badly hurt?”

Still secured in the harness, the Jadhra chieftain fought for air. His thoughts were incoherent and muddled. “My leg...when you...I think...can’t move it...got trapped ... broken...need...dark-sight.”

This immediately presented Jaknu with another problem. For Miqhal to revert to dark-sight, he would have to break physical contact. Once out of touch there was a possibility they would become separated. He conveyed his concern to Miqhal.

The Jadhra chieftain was adamant. “We… shall have to…risk it Jaknu. I need…I need dark-sight. Cutting harness off…my leg.”

A vast wave of pain sheared into Jaknu’s mind as Miqhal took a knife to the leather of the harness, the leg straps cutting in and pressing on broken bone before they were finally cut free. Mental contact was abruptly lost as Miqhal was swept into the current, and Jaknu could only concentrate on staying afloat. His outstretched wings still lay just below the surface, but his thick plumage was now water-logged, the strain on his shoulders immense. Just before his wingtips scraped rock, increased pressure on his sides and underbelly alerted him to a change in the water’s flow. Reducing his spread, he felt himself being thrust forward at increasing speed as the water raced through the narrowed channel. Tiring fast, he began to sink lower in the water, losing the buoyancy he had first gained by filling his lungs. Shoulders straining, great wings drooping, he struggled to keep his long neck firm enough to hold his head above the surface. Hurtling along in the racing water, he knew that only with a supreme effort could he be of any further help to Miqhal. Kicking out with his back legs and using his long thick tail as a rudder, he steered in the direction of the left-hand wall of the crevasse. Instead of making contact with rock, Jaknu found himself slowly spinning in calmer water. Miqhal’s hand grasping the leading edge of his wing barely registered. It was only the image projected into his mind of a calm broad lake in a high arching cavern which told him that the situation had changed.

Overlaid with waves of pain, Miqhal’s stress registered clearly in the Grelfon’s mind. “There appears to be no way out. I have seen a place where we can rest. Some way to your left is a broad ledge. If you can get us up onto it, I can try and strap my leg with the harness.”

Jaknu propelled himself sideways. After long minutes of pushing through the icy water and on the verge of succumbing to cold and fatigue, he felt rock under his feet, a long shallow slope leading to the ledge Miqhal had seen. Slowly and heavily he hauled himself out, the injured Jadhra chieftain struggling to keep a grip on the wet and slippery wing. Once on the ledge they lay side by side gasping for breath, rivulets of water streaming off wings and out of feathers and clothes.

Safely on firm rock and able to use his dark-sight again, Miqhal balanced awkwardly on his good leg while he forced near-frozen fingers to unfasten the cold buckles and wet straps of Jaknu’s harness. “When I have done this we will rest.”

Jaknu stretched in the darkness. “That would be most welcome, but I need to dry my wings. I cannot fold them while they are wet.”

Miqhal looked behind him. “If you turn a quarter circle to your right you will have room to do a full spread and exercise them.”

It was only Miqhal’s urgent “Wait!” which stopped Jaknu from immediately turning and pitching him back into the water. While the Grelfon stretched and flapped, Miqhal, a piece of harness leather clamped between his teeth, fashioned a support for his broken leg, perspiration running down from his forehead and stinging his eyes as he worked. The difficult task completed he leaned back against the wall and fell into an exhausted slumber.

It seemed no more than a few minutes later that Jaknu woke him with a gentle but firm prod of his blunt snout.
“It would seem we have company.”

Quickly shifting to dark-sight, Miqhal pushed himself up straight and peered out across the dark water. Gyrating slowly and heading for the opposite side of the cavern pool, a large shape was caught in the current. Unable to identify it clearly, Miqhal watched as it neared the far wall, bobbed once and vanished.

After waiting for a few moments for the shape to reappear, Miqhal placed a hand on Jaknu’s scaly front leg. “Was there life in that whatever it was? Was that why you said we had company?”

Noisily adjusting his wings, the big grelfon stretched out his long neck over the water. “There was twice life. A Grelfi, very weak, and one of my kin injured beyond recovery. I can sense neither of them now. Their life forces must have left them.”

Miqhal was hardly listening. His eyes, dark-sighted, were fixed on the spot where the bodies had suddenly vanished. He slapped his hand against the beast’s leg. “Jaknu, I believe there is an underwater outlet and they were dragged into it. I want you to leave me here, find it, and get help. We have only hours left now.”

Before the grelfon could raise an objection to leaving him behind, Miqhal had projected an image into his mind of the point where he thought the water would enter the outlet. Grumbling deep in his throat, Jaknu slid into the pool, using his wings like enormous fins to propel him across to the far side. As he drew near the point Miqhal had shown him, he stopped and let himself hang in the water. His wings laid flat against his body he filled his lungs with air, pushed his head below the surface and let the undercurrent pull him down.

Deeper and faster, for many minutes he was carried by the icy roaring blackness all around him. His vast lungs close to bursting, he forced open his eyes. Ahead of him, light filtered dimly through the seething water. Kicking hard, he struck upwards, breaking the surface with the roof of the flow tunnel barely two feet above his head. In seconds the light grew brighter and Jaknu could see clearly. About three hundred feet ahead, the racing flow fell away. With no place or opportunity to anchor himself Jaknu was swiftly propelled towards a broad open mouth in the rock. Spewed out on the cascade’s crown, he was flung into open air. Long leathery wings sodden and heavy, giant diamond droplets streaming from water-logged plumage, three thousand pounds of wet grelfon hurtled downwards. A hundred feet below, the ocean crashed relentlessly against gigantic rounded shoulders of grey water-worn rocks.

More than anything at this particular moment, Miqhal needed power. He knew he could heal his broken leg, but what little power remained within him was hardly sufficient to heal a scratch. His problem lay in the fact that the injury itself inhibited his ability to restore his own powers. Slumped back against the cold stone of the cavern wall, he lapsed into a half-sleep and let his mind drift. Slowly his hand slid from its resting place on his thigh. Jerked back to wakefulness by the sharp impact as hard stone met skin, Miqhal hesitated then lifted his hand in front of his face. For a long moment he studied his open palm, his mind exploring dozens of possibilities, actions, reactions and consequences. Incredulous as it seemed, he knew he already had the answer. Dragging himself as near to upright as he could manage, he began to struggle out of his clothing. His broken leg felt as if it was on fire. Biting back a scream he eased off his boots, willing himself to carry on as he pushed them to one side. Despite the sweat pouring from him the Jadhra chieftain shivered in the subterranean chill. The last item of wet clothing finally struggled off, he lowered his naked body to the cold surface of the ledge. Lying prone, arms outstretched he pressed himself flat against the dark stone.

The loud mental yell jolted Magnor back from a heat-induced stupor. Casting about, his mind encountered an all too familiar hollow silence.

Her golden eyes studying his face, Shika lifted her head from its pillow on his thigh.

“Unless I am very much mistaken, that was Miqhal.”

Surprised, Magnor took a few seconds to frame his reply in the patois of a desert wolf. “I thought so too. You know Miqhal then?”

A tremor rippled across her shoulders as she struggled painfully to her feet. Panting heavily, tongue lolling, she let her gaze rove across the barren rock-strewn emptiness around them. Magnor felt her mind searching.

Dropping her lean form into the meagre shade afforded by Magnor’s body, she leaned across and licked the back of his hand.”Miqhal and I have both served Ghian in various ways. Our paths often crossed. He was once my friend. Now, like Ghian, he treats me as an outcast.”

Magnor grimaced. “Be that as it may, he seemed to be in trouble. Regardless of how things stand between you, he was coming to rescue us.”

The Grrybhñnös warrior in Jadhra warrior clothing knelt and stroked the she-wolf’s ears. “I hate to put this on you, but we have to translocate. My problem is I no longer have enough power remaining to take us all the way to Vedra.”

Sitting back on her haunches, Shika looked him in the eye. “My powers are limited. At any time I can travel no more than a few miles.”

Magnor stood up, swivelled round and scanned the horizon. “Do you know where Vedra is from here? How far?”

Her reply stunned him. “It is almost half a day’s swift ride from here. However, while I remain in this accursed form, it is impossible for me to use my own powers to translocate. You will have to take both of us.”

He knew immediately that it would take that long for him to renew his powers sufficiently to take them both such a distance. Lapsing into deep and concentrated thought, he gazed for some minutes into the middle distance. Shika’s muzzle pushing insistently into his hand brought him back the present. He noticed her nose was hot and dry.

She leaned against his leg. “Have you enough to take us halfway?”

Magnor looked at her for a long moment. “What have you got in mind?”

Her reply came as an indistinct image, and Magnor knew she was weakening. Taking care not to reveal his concern, he crouched down beside her. “I need to see it more clearly Shika. Can you do that?”

The scene which entered his mind was stunning both in its clarity and detail. Knowing there was no time to lose, he placed a firm mental grasp on the image and snatched Shika up into his arms. In the empty desert a briefly swirling breeze quickly obliterated the slight impressions left in the pink-hued sand.

The cool darkness came as a welcome relief from the relentless onslaught of hot, dry throat-searing air and burning sun. No glimmer of light afforded any chance to view their surroundings. Limp, but still breathing, Shika lay inside the safe cradle of his arms. Not wanting to subject her to the unyielding discomfort of the stone floor he could feel beneath his feet, Magnor settled steadily onto his knees. Ensuring that Shika was comfortable, he drew in a little power. The strength and intensity of it filled him with surprise and a certain degree of awe. He knew then that the place to which they had come was imbued with something with which he could have a closer communion if only he had the time. Vowing in his heart to return, he shifted to dark-sight and slowly looked around him.

In the deep purples and pale violet shades of dark-sight, the scene which met his eyes seemed almost beyond comprehension. They had arrived in a large circular chamber, partly natural, partly tooled from the solid rock. Magnor found himself gazing at a wall completely filled with the most incredibly lifelike carvings he had ever seen, far surpassing the most skilled of Grrybhñnös craftsmen. Incised deeply into the striated rock, precisely detailed leaves shimmered, tiny birds’ wings fluttered and exotic plants bloomed, all surrounding a series of geometric shapes, seeming incongruous amongst the stunning variety of natural forms.

Almost five years ago a wine merchant’s son, frightened and mystified by events over which he had no control, had looked on those same carvings. Moved by their beauty and workmanship, Ghian had not known what he was seeing, but Magnor knew. He had been here before.

Gently he fondled Shika’s ear. “There is so much here that you should know. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

Her drooping tail flicked weakly against his knee as she slowly lifted her head. Eyes flickering open, she glanced up at his face before lowering her muzzle into the crook of his elbow.

The words which filtered into his mind were barely discernible.
“Miqhal brought me here, and told me what it all means.”
She paused, as if attempting to gather strength to continue.
“Can you read the ancient words above the doorway?”

With the she-wolf held close against his chest Magnor rose to his feet, turned round and looked up. In the purple shades of dark-sight the gold etched characters shone vividly white, burning themselves into his brain. Fighting an inexplicable urge to utter the words out loud, he turned back to the carved wall. Shika’s weight lay heavy in his arms.

“Yes, I can. They cry out to be spoken, but I don’t think I am to be the one to speak them.”

He moved across to the wall, leaned his back against it and eased himself slowly to the floor. His legs stretched straight out in front of him, he carefully settled Shika across his lap. Reaching out with every one of his senses, he began to work on restoring his powers. All he needed was enough to take them the final leg through the tunnels to the dark and evil city of Vedra. Shika began to tremble, her paws twitching and tapping against the sides of his knees. Thinking she was asleep and dreaming, Magnor placed his muscular forearm under her lolling head. One faint but heart-felt word entered his mind, piercing him to the very depth of his being.
“Thank you.”
With one last long soft sigh, her body ceased its trembling, falling slack across his thighs. A great sob punched its way up from Magnor’s gut, forcing moisture from eyes which had turned ice-blue. Burying his face in the soft fur at the side of her neck, he unashamedly let the hot tears fall. He sat like that for many minutes, wishes, regrets and memories tumbling over each other in his mind and wrenching at his heart.

Feeling the cold stone of the floor sending chilled fingers creeping up his spine, he eased Shika’s limp body off his legs and pushed himself to his feet. In an attempt to restore circulation in his thighs he strode across the chamber. As he turned around he stopped, his heart in his throat. The deep indigo form lying on the floor was not that of a desert wolf but of a woman. In four long strides he was across the cavern. He fell to his knees beside her, his hopeful fingers reaching for the side of her neck, searching for some spark of life. His heart sank as he realised that no pulse flickered in the body of the woman who had, albeit briefly, been his help, companion and mate. His heart heavy, he removed his Jadhra warrior’s head-dress and painstakingly straightened it out, smoothing the creases between his strong hands. Gently he placed the long black cloth over her cold, lifeless face and upper body. Hands folded against his broad chest, he quietly intoned a blessing over her. After gazing at her lifeless, black-shrouded form for a few moments, he stood up and turned away. Reaching out once more with every one of his senses, he filled himself with the chamber’s awesome power, knowing he would now have to find his own way to Vedra, unless he was able to contact Miqhal. Translocating straight to the city was an option, but a risky one. To emerge on a tower and find it occupied by even one grelfon would put not only him but the whole mission in jeopardy.

Abandoning his original plan to use the tunnels which would have taken him and Shika to the Black Temple in Vedra, without a backward glance he passed under the high lintel, its golden glyphs shining white in his dark-sight, and left the Chamber of Memories. After pausing to sniff the slightly musty air of the adjoining tunnel, he turned to his left. In a steady jog-trot he overlaid his footprints on those left by the hooves of two horses almost five years ago.