War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (26 page)

Dropping the cooked fish onto a small bundle of seaweed, Dhoum pushed it towards Karryl. “There. Get that inside you. Then we can get some sleep.”

Karryl pushed it back. “Half each. That’s only fair.”

Dhoum gave one of his long slow blinks as he stroked at his throat-patch. “Had mine, before I caught that one.”

Gratefully Karryl picked up the rapidly cooling fish and broke off a large piece. “You ate it raw?”

Dhoum chuckled, calling over his shoulder as he strolled back down the beach to a tiny rock pool. “And alive. Very nutritious. You should try it sometime. Well, raw anyway. I don’t think you’re equipped to deal with live food.”

Karryl shook his head in mild disbelief and concentrated on his supper. When nothing was left but the hard bony skeleton and some scraps of burnt skin, he tossed it into the glowing embers. As the oily bones crackled and crisped, he let his thoughts drift with the sparks which shot up into the darkness like tiny fireflies tossed on a vagrant breeze. He was only vaguely aware of Dhoum flopping down onto the sand beside him. It was only when the Grrybhñnös pitched some well aimed sticks into the dwindling fire that his mind was brought sharply back to the present.

He held out his chilled hands towards the gathering blaze, and gave his companion a sideways glance. “D’you think we could go back now, instead of spending the night here? It’s just that we should have been there hours ago, and no-one will know what’s happened.”

Dhoum brushed sand and bits of twig from his hands. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, the crew are already back in Vellethen. Saw the sails of a ship heading that way just after I pulled you out of the water.”

Karryl stared at him. “You mean you let them go without us!? We could have been home and dry by now!”

Dhoum settled on all fours and rested his chin on his crossed forearms. “They were too far away to contact. Anyway, it would have taken too long for them to turn about and reach us. I had to get you ashore as soon as possible. Those waters were dangerous.”

Karryl didn’t reply, simply sighed, picked up a piece of dried seaweed and began to pick at it as he mulled over the day’s events. It was only his body that was weakened; his mind was as quick and agile as ever.

He looked down at Dhoum. “D’you think that weird storm was natural?”

The Grrybhñnös raised his head and turned dark thoughtful eyes in Karryl’s direction. “Probably. I have heard of such things. Why?”

Karryl tossed the remains of the piece of seaweed into the fire. “Well, it’s getting close to the time of the conjunction. Miqhal has the artefacts, I haven’t finished the work on Keril’s book, and you can’t tell me that Ghian has been spending his time twiddling his thumbs. If I was him I’d be doing everything in my power to try and stop me making it to Naboria.”

Dhoum pushed himself upright and squatted on his haunches. “It takes a lot of forward planning and careful calculation to work the weather, ‘specially at that distance. I reckon it was just a freak storm.” He stood up, stretched and shook sand out of his fur. “Now I’m going to get some sleep and I suggest you do the same. There’s no warmth in that fire now. If you sit there all night pondering, you’ll end up with a chill.”

Dhoum ambled further up the small sloping beach to gather a huge armful of dried seaweed, sticks and assorted flotsam which he bundled into the back of the cave. Having scraped it all together in a deep nest, he trampled it round a few times, curled up in the centre then watched with interest as Karryl followed his example, if not quite so neatly. The white sliver of a new moon began to creep across the deep blue of a pre-dawn sky as the pair settled down and allowed the events of the past few hours to drift far behind them.

The storm had been rampaging across the desert for days. With unprecedented force it hurled tons of pink-hued sand through the hot dry air, piling and sculpting massive new dunes, only to scour them away again in renewed fury. Old dunes slid and shifted, exposing new rock formations while consigning to oblivion others which had stood as landmarks for generations.

Ghian pored over charts, tables and books of archaic writings, battling with frustration as he struggled to comprehend the long-unspoken language and strange symbols. His head pounding, the Grelfine Lord pushed the work aside and turned his attention to the faded words of a summoning he had recently unearthed in the crackling pages of an age-old book. He was determined that once more the recalcitrant wraiths would do his bidding.

The noise of the approaching storm thrummed a continuous accompaniment against the temple’s ancient walls. On the far side of the city the encroaching tide of hissing grains swept with impunity over and around dark silent buildings and into a secluded courtyard. Swirling into darkened corners, the sand swiftly settled on the ancient stone surface in an ever deepening layer, until it reached the time-eroded lip of the parapet surrounding a deep dark well. As if focussing its fury on this half-forgotten feature, the storm despatched a whirling vortex of sand seething and spinning over and down into the forbidding maw of the well’s dry shaft. Leaving behind an unrecognisable and featureless accumulation of dunes and hollows, the storm raged on across the inner city. Barely hindered by the massive buildings in its path, it swept over the temple’s grim pile and on to the towering barrier of the city’s massive wall. There, it briefly fragmented, dumping massive quantities of its abrasive burden against the broad ramparts before roaring over the top and down into the desert beyond. With no further obstacles in its path, the storm rebuilt in strength and fury, gathering up a fresh burden as it headed for the bustling port of Nebir.

* * *

In the tunnels deep below the shifting desert, Vedran soldiers huddled in small terrified groups, disturbed by sounds far more disquieting than those created by the raging of the storm far above. Days before, long before the light of the last torch had died, more than one soldier had succumbed to hysteria, stumbling and shoving his bawling gibbering way through the narrow tunnels in a vain effort to find an escape to the surface. Faint from lack of food and water, their torches spent, those who remained now awaited their end at the hands of whatever demons they might be that shrieked and laughed in the absolute blackness. Alternating spells of searing hot and freezing cold draughts had drained their stamina and weakened their resolve. Husky voices forced from dry throats trembled in near hysteria as the soldiers called out, their strangled cries echoing and re-echoing, scattered groups hoping against hope to locate each other and meet up. They met only with confusion, whispering murmuring sounds interspersed with cruelly mocking laughter taunting them, reverberating and echoing through the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers.

Above the unnerving moans and mutterings, a stronger voice carried through the darkness. “I’m damned if I’m going to wait here until I’m eaten alive or perish from hunger!”

A rattling, scraping noise reached those within earshot, followed by a sharp rapid chipping sound. Sparks flew and shadows leaped. A tiny flame flickered and danced in the draught.

A murmur sped swiftly. “Ushak’s got a light. We can try and get out.”

Shielding the flame with his hand, the soldier named Ushak edged carefully past his huddled fellows. “Keep close and follow me. I’m going to find the way out.”

Someone sneered. “How long d’you think that little flame’s going to last?”

Ushak’s answering snarl was edged with contempt. “Long enough. Better to do this than wait here to die. With any luck we can all get out alive.”

A thin voice whined from the shadows. “You’ve got no right.”

Ushak thrust his flame forward. “Fine, Abrak. You’re the lieutenant. You led us into this mess. You lead us out.”

Light glinted on studded leather armour as a stocky figure moved out of the dense gloom. “We’re wasting time Ushak. We all know Abrak’s useless. Lead on, we’ll be close behind you.”

Ushak raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Right Khaled, you take point. I’m gone.”

He turned away in disgust as Abrak’s petulance shrieked round the cavern. “I’ll have you strung up for insubordination!”

The tell-tale sounds of a brief scuffle reached Ushak’s ears, followed by a slithering thump and the sound of something dragging. He gave a mental shrug, not really caring if he never saw Abrak again. He could tell by the length of the harsh stubble which now bristled on his cheeks and chin, that they were losing track of time. They were all well aware they didn’t have much of it left. One or two had even gone beyond the point of caring. It would not be much longer before the weakest of them would crumple to the cold comfortless granite floor, knowing it would be his final resting place. The others would not spare their own meagre strength to gather up stragglers and fallers.

Thirty men formed a human chain. For long arduous hours they followed Ushak along a stumbling uncertain course through the upward gradients of narrow tunnels and into tiny claustrophobic caves. Every so often the air was pierced by a distant and chilling scream of terror and despair. Deep down and briefly, Ushak felt sympathy for Abrak. The group moved on. Time and again they found themselves at a dead end, forced to shuffle round and retrace their steps. Urging his tired brain to keep his sense of direction focussed, Ushak continued to head upwards, the half squad of Vedran soldiers trailing despondently behind him. His eyes sticky, his tongue dry, he was about to give way to despair when broadening shadows told him the tunnel they were in was widening. Holding the sputtering flame at arm’s length he peered forward into the dense gloom.

His words were thick and barely understandable. “This looks more like it.” He dragged in a deep breath of air that seemed fresher and cooler. “We might be able to get out from here.”

The gist was passed back, and subdued murmurs of half belief echoed softly round behind him. Moving cautiously forward Ushak led them into a large, low-ceilinged chamber. Holding the flame high he peered into the deep shadows along the curve of the walls. Something glinted as it briefly caught the light. Signalling to the others to wait, Ushak slowly moved towards it. Dense shadows leaped and loomed as the tiny flame guttered and dipped. In one final defiant flare it consumed the last vestige of tinder, glowed balefully, and went out. Plunged into total darkness, Ushak’s senses reeled. Unbalanced and disoriented he dropped to his knees, gleaning some reassurance from the solidity of the stone beneath him.

He called out. “Keep hold of the man in front of you, sit down and don’t move. Someone tap a sword. I’m making my way back.”

Fabric rustled, leather creaked, and weapons clattered. Amid subdued comments and sniggers of nervous bravado, one of his companions began striking a regular beat on the cavern floor. The reassuring sounds of murmuring voices and metal on stone came from his right. On hands and knees Ushak began to shuffle the few yards through the all enveloping blackness, and headed towards the sounds. Aware only of the noise which guided him and the hard coldness of the stone beneath his hands, he crawled steadily forward, his confused senses anticipating the reassuring bodily contact with his squad. Instead, the cavern echoed his curses as his forehead struck solid rock.

A voice, pitched unnaturally high with hysteria, came from his left. “Seems like your sense of direction is a bit out, Ushak.”

Gingerly probing his grazed forehead, Ushak snarled into the darkness. “It’s this bloody cavern. It makes all the sounds different. Nobody move. I’m by the wall so I’ll work my way round and find you.”

A derisive snort reached his ears. “Lot of good that’ll do. We ain’t by the wall, see. We followed you across the cavern when you ‘ad your little light.”

There was a pause, followed by a groan. An anonymous philosopher murmured “Now we’re all in the shit.”

Ushak slumped onto his haunches and sighed. Why did they have to follow him like sheep? If they had obeyed one simple order… He took a moment to allow his welling anger and despair to subside, then fumbled in his jerkin for the tinderbox. Working his fingers round the edge of the tiny box he flipped it open. With not a vestige of light to help him, it was only familiarity of use which enabled him to strike the flint.

He blinked hard as the brightness of the brief spark left its after-image in his vision. “Did you all see that?”

“ ‘Course we did. What’s else to see? Do it again and we’ll head towards you.”

For what seemed like an eternity the air was filled with the monotonous snap of Ushak’s striking flint, accompanied by the occasional snarled epithet as shuffling, scrabbling soldiers collided in the impenetrable blackness. One by one the exhausted soldiers reached the welcome security of the cavern wall. Pushing and complaining they huddled together, forcing laughter as someone made a lame joke.

Ushak worked his mouth to try and make saliva. He saw no cause for levity. “It isn’t funny.” A derogatory grunt rose into the darkness and Ushak grimaced. “Now we’re all in one place we can make our way round the wall until we find the way we came in, and the sooner the better.” He sniffed. “This place is already beginning to stink.”

His throat tightened and he tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, his tongue feeling like a piece of old leather. Reaching to his side he groped around, hooked his fingers into the clothing of the man next to him and tugged. He felt a hand fumbling around until it found his shoulder. A couple of half hearted slaps gave Ushak the impetus. On hands and knees, his right shoulder in contact with the wall, he began to crawl. He heard grunts, moans, scuffles and shuffles as one or other of the men behind him paused, either exhausted or disoriented and was barged into by another. It was slow going and breathing was difficult. Robbed of sight, Ushak felt vulnerable, and the thickening air in the lightless cavern seemed to pulse with threat.

Some other sense stirred within him. Instinctively he stopped and held up a hand. The man behind bundled into him. Twisting his body round, Ushak leaned his back against the cold stone wall and waited for the pushing, shoving and complaining to finish. Holding his breath he strained to hear something else. He sniffed the air.

Someone muttered, disgruntled, “Why have we stopped?”

Ushak felt a twinge of annoyance. “Keep it down!”

Total silence wrapped itself around them like a thick black blanket.

His new sense heightened further, Ushak leaned forward. “There’s…” He hesitated. His voice was a harsh whisper. “There’s something in here.”

The man next to him nudged him. “Let’s get going.”

Ushak could smell his fear. He whispered in the man’s ear. “Pass it along. We’re moving.”

Each man nudged the one beside him and the slow crawl resumed. No-one spoke. The only sounds were those of laboured breath, the occasional creak of leather or the clink of metal on stone. Ushak could still sense a presence but as yet he felt no threat; more a quiet waiting. As his fingers groped the wall he began to count, a tiny doubt niggling in his mind. They seemed to have covered more distance than was necessary. He forced himself to move faster, his heart thumping, his hands patting and probing. He had counted to just over five hundred when his searching hand touched something small and metallic at the base of the wall. His fingers closed round it and he stopped. His heart thumped wildly as recognition prompted a shuddering gulp of despair and disbelief. It was his discarded tinder-box. They had gone round the full perimeter of the cavern wall without finding an entrance. He pressed his back against the hardness of the rock, teeth clamped together to keep from screaming. It was all he could do to stop his fear and utter frustration from gaining the upper hand. He worked his mouth again to try and make some moisture. Gripping the tinderbox between his palms, he lowered his head onto his drawn-up knees.

His words struggled over his swollen tongue, stumbling out among dry sobs. “That’s it…we’ve been…all the way round. They’ve sealed…they’ve…shut us in …with … something.”

Their last hope gone, no-one bothered to respond. A few sighs and choked curses reached Ushak’s ears. He had used nearly all his energy reserves. Now all he wanted to do was huddle against the wall and sleep. Whatever was in the cavern with them no longer bothered him. Better a quick death than to die slowly in the agonies of starvation and thirst.

The watcher stood silent and unmoving, allowing the Vedran soldier’s probing but weakened sense to drift over him. With enhanced eyesight he took a few minutes to study the miserable huddle of exhausted, stinking men slumped against the cavern wall. Satisfied, the watcher turned his attention more fully to the one who had sensed his presence. On a whisper of barely disturbed air he moved a few feet closer, his natural curiosity fired by the man’s rare, and as yet untrained, ability. Satisfied, he moved silently along, pausing by each man in turn, using finely honed senses to assess each man’s strength and abilities.

Sleep began to spread its comforting mist through Ushak’s brain, but once again some other sense urged him to awareness. Raising his head he forced his eyes open in darkness so deep he couldn’t see the hand he lifted to rub his eyes. But he didn’t need to see. He knew beyond doubt that there was another presence in the cavern.