The Serpent of Eridor (15 page)

Turning his beak to the wind, Fernando stretched upwards. Wings extended, he caught an air current, rising majestically. Climbing into the cloudy blue skies, he beat to the north.

‘So handsome,' said Keeko, watching him go, a wistful look in her eyes.

Thanks
, transferred back a deep voice.
But married.

Pounding down a scree slope the group was carried by momentum, each footfall creating small rock slides. On a high, they finally halted on a large plateau at the base of Makusha.

Alex bent over to brace his arms against his thighs, dragging air into his aching lungs.

‘An hour's walk to the Modo,' said Zorrin, gasping. ‘Blast the Xo force. Wish we could disparticulate now. You hungry?'

‘Ravenous,' said Skoodle, climbing out of Alex's shirt.

‘From all this pocket-riding exercise?'

‘No, from mental exercise. All the time you're only charging around, I'm thinking.'

They all sagged to the ground. Alex rolled on to his back, arm across his eyes. ‘What a foul day. I'm still no closer to finding out about my parents and now I never will be.'

Skoodle scrambled up to sit in the middle of Alex's forehead, forcing him to close his eyes or go cross-eyed. ‘Negativity's a mental mudbath. It'll suck all happiness in. Do something. Jive. Eat. Don't dwell.'

‘How long have you had a degree in psychology?'

‘About four minutes. Self-awarded for particular brilliance.'

Zorrin seated himself cross-legged on a mound of air, holding his hand over a flat stone. Pale lilac fire sprang up from the rocky surface, crackling and hissing. Zorrin pulled a wok from inside his shirt, placing it over the fire. From a pocket he produced a bag of what appeared to be green candyfloss and threw a tuft of it into the pan. A fountain of thick green liquid spurted up from the bottom, filling the wok up to the brim.

‘Cream of vegetable soup? Or something else? Carrot?' Zorrin waved his hand across the pan. The soup turned bright orange.

‘Beetroot, maybe?' asked Keeko, swinging down to sit beside him.

The contents of the pan turned deep purple. With no real desire for anything different, but wanting to see it change again, Alex suggested tomato. In a snap, the soup changed to brilliant red.

‘Perhaps all of them?' Zorrin motioned his hand once more. The pan now held four colours in gently bubbling quarters, multicoloured steam wafting from its surface.

‘We'll need something to eat with it.' Zorrin glanced at some pods on a nearby bush. ‘These look about ripe.' He raised an eyebrow at them.

The pods started to swell. After quadrupling in size, they burst open with a little pop. At the heart of each was a small, warm loaf of bread.

‘Pick some,' Zorrin said. ‘They'll be delicious.'

Cautiously Keeko put a paw out for one then put it to her nose, sniffing. ‘It smells fantastic.'

‘Clever,' said Ikara, reaching out her tail.

Zorrin shrugged. ‘Easy. Wizard-cub stuff.'

In minutes each had a bowl of soup and a few rolls. Alex could feel strength pouring back into his tired limbs as warm purple liquid coursed down his throat. Finally full, he pushed his bowl away and lay flat on his back in the thick grass.

An irritating whistling noise, getting louder each second, broke the contented silence. A silver ball propelled by a column of air blasted through the leaves, aiming straight for Tariq.

‘Look out,' yelled Alex.

As Tariq hit the ground the ball swept sharply over his head in a neat S bend. The air stream died, depositing the missile at Zorrin's feet. Intrigued, Alex sat up.

‘It will be from Flick. Only Ravenscraig uses souvents. It must be urgent.'

Zorrin yanked the wok from the fire then flung the ball into the blaze. Out of the core of the flames rose a dramatic series of images: a dramatic pageant of what had happened recently at Ravenscraig.

‘Why can't we see Flick?' asked Keeko.

‘Everything was recorded through her eyes and ears, replayed by her memory,' replied Zorrin, eyes fixed on the images before him. ‘That's why we can hear her voice more clearly than those of the others.' His face looked grave as the scenes continued. ‘I recognise that evil goblin, Tevo.'

As the image of the Live Wizard's List appeared they heard Flick's voice, ‘The situation is critical, Zorrin. Come now if you can.'

Zorrin sprang to his feet, his mood streak sparking red. ‘Back to the Modo. Run.'

‘The black stones,' said Tariq, grabbing Zorrin's shirt. ‘They might harness or overcome the Xo so we can transparticulate back to the castle.'

‘Worth a go,' replied Zorrin. He pulled one of the pebbles out of an inner pocket. ‘Hold on to my shirt.'

Each grabbed a handful of black silky cloth, Ikara grasping a fold in her mouth.

‘Disparticulate us to Ravenscraig,' Zorrin told the rock.

The grassy plateau began to fade. Elfin music, like distant high-pitched pipes, filled the air. A turquoise mist engulfed them. The trees nearby grew shadowy, the ground less solid – until they were suspended weightless in space. Slowly the haze cleared as they appeared in the front hall of Ravenscraig. Their feet came to rest on cold stone. Alex started to pull away.

Zorrin grabbed his arm. ‘Don't move yet. If you interrupt reparticulation you may remain always partly in shadow. Many ghosts are not the dead, but the result of such interruptions.'

The high-pitched music faded to a whisper, then vanished as they became totally solid. Zorrin replaced the rock inside his cloak, pulling up his sleeve to reveal his wrist crystal.

‘Show me Flick.'

The crystal revealed Flick sprinting along the corridor outside the dungeons, black and gold hair streaming out behind her.

‘Alive, by the stars. Show me the invaders.'

Several pictures emerged: Rectoria prowling in the underground labyrinth at the east end of the castle; Tevo creeping up the main stairs, heading for the study; Benix growling at Grut, who lay cowering under a chest on one of the second-floor landings; Smuddy Binks in a bedroom above the kitchen; the foxes Arnak and Ferox padding along a corridor, as Hebor aimed for the laboratories.

‘We need to split up. I'll get Tevo,' said Zorrin. ‘Ikara, can you take on the badger in the bedroom?'

‘Certainly,' hissed Ikara. ‘A badger against a snake – no contest.' She slipped from the room.

‘Keeko, go and help Flick. Tell her Rectoria's location. Help her neutralise that vicious she-devil of a goblin.'

‘Excellent,' said Keeko, jaw set. ‘She tried to kill Tariq at Gelforth. It's payback time.' She loped after Ikara.

‘Tariq, can you deal with the dog near the labs? If I'm right, it's Hebor. He has no magic, unlike Rycant, but he's a fierce fighter. Kill if you have to.'

‘Consider it done,' said Tariq, rising to stand upright: solid, muscular, menacing. He sprinted out, claws bared.

‘That leaves you with the foxes. OK?'

Alex nodded, throat dry, palms sweaty, wondering how to deal barehanded with angry warrior foxes. He set off at a run, aiming towards the west corridor, a rhythmical thudding against his leg from the box in his pocket. Then it sank in. Cabivitrim: potential weapon. He stopped.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Getting armed.' Alex pulled on the golden glove.

‘Nothing more vicious than a fighter with a hand warmer.'

‘It's all we've got.'

‘We've also got my vivid imagination and currently I see the foxes ripping into your neck then blood gushing down your chest as your life flows out of you.'

‘Where will you be while I'm dying?'

‘Floating in a fox's stomach acid on the way to Toomba.'

‘Bite the fox for me as you go down his throat. Might distract him.'

Glove in place Alex sprinted on, feeling it was best to get the fight over with whatever the result. Rounding a corner, he came upon Ferox standing in the centre of the hall, teeth bared, snarling. Alex stopped, focusing his mind.

The fox was much bigger than Alex had assumed, standing about the size of a husky. Cabivitrim now seemed inadequate for the job – and a double-edged sword. If he got stuck to one of the foxes he'd be ripped apart.

Keeping eye contact with the fox in the hope that showing no fear would delay an attack, Alex edged open the box, his palm sweating inside the golden glove. He took out one green ball. Warm, squishy and disgusting, it smelled like pond slime.

Ferox stood, head up, body taut – as if his muscles were on standby. Alex took aim and threw.

The fox ducked. The green squidge whistled past his shoulder to land on the carpet some feet beyond. Ferox didn't turn his head to see where the missile had ended up, remaining fully focussed on Alex.

Grabbing another jelly ball, Alex recalculated where to aim. Lower down the body would make the glue less easy to dodge. With a quick snap of his elbow Alex hurled the next cabivitrim at Ferox.

‘Missed by less,' said Skoodle, chin on the edge of his pocket.

‘Almost encouraging.'

With focus born of desperation Alex recognised a pattern to the animal's movements. As the first ball had spun at him the fox had flattened to the floor slightly then sprung back. For the second missile he had twitched to one side. Each time he'd used minimal movement to avoid the problem then instantly recoiled to his original position.

Alex reached into the box for a third cabivitrim, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He had already missed twice. Ferox's snarling became louder, tail waving, presumably waiting until Alex faltered.

Mind in cold battle calculation mode, Alex took aim. His arm rocketed forward as if to throw, but he held on to the glue. The fox ducked. As Ferox sprang back to his attacking position Alex hurled the cabivitrim. It hit a front leg.

Ferox glanced down at the shimmering green ball. Growling, he scraped his front paw on the floor. As soon as the green slime touched the carpet, it stuck. Ferox yanked his foot, screaming as he tore skin and fur. The cabivitrim held.

‘Devil-cub,' Ferox yelled at Alex. ‘What evil magic is in this? Arnak, come.'

Another fox appeared at the far end of the corridor, much larger than the first. After a fleeting glance at Ferox, Arnak sprinted forward, his eyes fixed on Alex's throat.

‘Crisis,' yelled Skoodle. ‘Run.'

‘He's faster. We fight.'

As Skoodle dropped to the bottom of his pocket, Alex reached into the box for the last cabivitrim. Two misses at a standing fox. One ball left for a sprinting animal.

Alex's tiny target had to be the border of one of the front paws, the only body part that definitely would touch the carpet. Absorbing the rhythm of the fox's gait, Alex threw. The green slime hit the front paw, but too high to stick to the floor.

The fox sprang, jaws wide. In desperation, Alex hurled the box at the fox's head. Too late to dodge, Arnak took the blow full in the face. Stunned, he lurched sideways. The cabivitrim hit the carpet and stuck. The fox clawed at his fixed paw, sticking down both.

‘Snot-ball,' Ferox shrieked. ‘Cowardly yellow-livered dungworm. I'll claw you to shreds for this.'

‘I'll rip your throat out, you stinking pool of putrid pus,' yelled Arnak.

Skoodle appeared at the pocket edge. ‘Yeah, maybe.'

Peeling the hot glove off his hand, Alex threw it to the floor. He'd won. Relief flooded through him. Buzzing with adrenaline, he surveyed the field of battle: his trapped enemies, bloodstained, surrounded by ripped-off skin and fur.

‘We were brilliant,' said Skoodle.

‘Too right. Now we need to find the others.'

‘It's probably half-time by now. Will they have oranges?'

‘No. Be serious. This is a battle.'

‘I am serious.'

As Alex sprinted for the narrow gap between the foxes and the wall, the tip of one of Ferox's claws found his flesh. Alex felt ripping pain, then blood running down his leg. Alex ignored it, not bothered at all. Blood on both sides, but he had won.

He rounded the next bend and stopped. A vast black dog was pounding towards him down the corridor. The dog's muscles rippled under black wiry fur: a killing machine double Alex's size.

‘Reverse,' yelled Skoodle.

Alex wheeled round and bolted back past the foxes.

‘Kill him, Rycant,' shouted Ferox. ‘Rip that evil human spawn apart.'

‘Willingly,' growled the huge dog, sprinting past.

Alex ran flat out, yet the pounding canine feet got closer with every pace. With the snarling only yards behind him, Alex ran into a room, swinging round to slam the heavy door shut.

It was too late. Rycant's salivating muzzle thrust through the gap. Alex flung his whole weight against the door. Wood splintered on to skull with a loud crash. Howling, Rycant smashed the door open, flinging Alex across the room, blasting him into a table. The enormous dog stood facing Alex, growling, taking his time now that his victim was trapped.

Trapped, weaponless, Alex wondered whether he'd have time to throw himself through the closed window. Death by falling several floors in a shower of splintered glass might be better than having his throat torn out. As Rycant sprang, Alex grabbed a large object from the table and cracked it on to the dog's head. Head bleeding, the Rottweiler staggered sideways.

‘It's Clawds,' yelled Skoodle.

Glancing down, Alex saw that he was holding the statue of the cat. The dark sculptured wood glowed intensely, as if from an inner light. It rapidly got warmer; within a couple of seconds it was too hot to hold. With a grimace of pain, Alex dropped it.

It landed upright, the cat perched on his hind paws as he had been when lignified. Some extraordinary force seemed to be surging through Clawds, like a thousand-volt electric charge. Wood began to melt into fur, the lifeless paws returning to flesh. The statue expanded rapidly as it turned back into a living cat. Within seconds an eleven-foot monster stood near Alex, howling. Growling, Rycant hauled himself to his feet, hair bristling.

The great cat's jaws opened, so wide that it seemed his head would rip apart. A hand appeared out of Clawds's mouth, followed by a second.

The two hands yanked at the giant cat's back teeth as the being tried to haul itself out of the immense feline. Yowling, Clawds wrestled to close his jaws against the clawing fingers, his still-lignified forepaws hanging uselessly by his sides.

After a grotesque minute a man's head appeared, a ragged slash down his cheek. Bulging eyes stared out of their sockets. His neck veins were engorged like fat purple ropes as he strained. Then, for a moment, the facial muscles relaxed as the figure inhaled a lungful of air.

‘Karlan,' gasped Alex.

Spurred into movement, Alex took two steps towards Clawds. The dog leapt forward, snarling, teeth bared, paws braced. Alex moved back a few inches. The growling subsided. The dog clearly wasn't frightened of the face appearing. Karlan must be one of his allies.

Karlan started struggling again, overbalancing the cat. Clawds's head hit the corner of an oak chest. He lay still, eyes closed, motionless.

Leaning on the blunter teeth at the back of the mouth, Karlan forced the cat down his body inch by inch. Black-clad shoulders and chest appeared, covered in lumpy slimy stomach contents. In a few seconds the wizard stepped out, kicking Clawds to one side as if he were an empty sleeping bag

Stiffly, the wizard raised himself to his feet. ‘You and your stupid friends released Zorrin,' he said to Alex, sounding furious. ‘You're directly responsible for this outrage.' He touched the ragged wound on his face and indicated his stinking shirt. ‘You'll die for this.'

His tone was cold, clinical – as if he'd passed a death sentence so often that it was neither interesting nor negotiable; just fact. Skoodle scrambled round to the back of Alex's shirt as Karlan started to brush some of the foul matter from his clothes.

Alex could feel Skoodle climbing down his back, scratching his skin through his thin shirt, then scurrying down his leg.

Karlan looked up again. ‘You'll not escape this time,' he said, spitting his words out like bullets. ‘I'll teach you a lesson. Luckily for you, you'll not remember it, as corpses have no memory.' He turned to the dog. ‘Rycant, is Tevo also here?'

‘Yes.'

‘Bring him to me.'

Karlan watched the dog lope out of the door. Out of the corner of his eye Alex saw Skoodle scurry across the floor to the cat, then bury himself in his tabby fur.

So he has not run for help
, thought Alex.
He's abandoned me, getting clear of the death bolt
.
It doesn't matter. In a minute or so nothing will matter to me ever again.

Playing for time in case Zorrin might track him, Alex blurted out, ‘Your escape was astonishing.' He forced admiration into his voice. ‘How did you get out?'

‘It's interesting to see that somebody as young and feeble as yourself appreciates powerful magic when they see it.'

‘I'm fascinated,' Alex raced on, brain trying to keep up with his words. ‘You were totally trapped, weren't you? You should have been helpless.'

‘Yet, as you have seen, I wasn't. Never underestimate the power of the evil forces. Not that you'll have much time left to make further judgements on anything.'

‘Even so, how did you do it?' asked Alex, pushing on, throat as dry as the Sahara. The hammering of his heart was so loud inside his head that he almost expected blood to start spurting out of his ears. ‘Did you send a beam of magic to the dog?'

‘No,' replied Karlan, sounding irritated. ‘I couldn't transmit any messages anywhere. Zorrin's spell had dealt with that. Rycant is a magical creature. When my trapped power met him with such force, the fusion of two enchantment zones shattered the spell binding me. Unfortunately, it also strengthened that blasted cat, so he did not die as he should have done. In fact,' Karlan added with a thin smile, ‘I suppose I ought to be thanking you for this rescue. Think, as you die, of how you have cost your friends their lives.'

Alex blundered on, words spilling out at random. He waved his hand around airily. ‘So, do you think this room will do for a meeting place with Tevo? Has it enough magical vibrations to help your mental energy flow?'

Idiot
, he thought.
How could I say something so stupid? Karlan is bound to realise that this is aimless rambling.

It seemed, however, not to be so stupid. Karlan's gaze swept around the room taking in the pale stone fireplace, the scarlet silk curtains, the portraits of elderly wizards, the sparse oak furniture. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the mixed aroma of wax polish, old wood and the electric scent that invariably follows a storm.

‘I suppose so.'

Alex backed away a step. Only a couple of yards separated him from the open door, but at this moment even two paces was a terminal distance. ‘Why do you hate Zorrin?' he asked, as the wizard looked back at him.

‘History. If you knew his life story, you'd hate him too. Enough of this. I have given you longer than you deserve.' His bony arm rose from under the long, stinking shirt. The executioner's finger pointed straight at Alex's heart.