War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (37 page)

Now high in the sky, the sun blazed down onto rocks where a long grey body lay sprawled half in half out of the water. With each surging wave, the broad tapering head lolled, the thick tail lifting back and forth in the sea’s regular rhythm. Stained by the creature’s slowly oozing blood, the water swirled over tumbled boulders, seething back in rivulets and miniature waterfalls. In a clattering accompaniment to the sea’s hiss and rumble, stones and small rocks rolled and tumbled to plunge down through the dark green depths to the sea-bed.

Curved claws destroying the tenacious grip of dozens of barnacles, Jaknu hauled himself round an outcrop and hungrily eyed the half-grown whale’s corpse. Its rank odour had reached his keen nostrils the moment he broke surface. Ignoring the numerous small cuts and larger bruises resulting from his fall, he had clawed and scrambled his way up and around the seaward side of the mountain’s broad base in search of this desirable food source. Now, yellow saliva dripping he hesitated, knowing he couldn’t fly with a full stomach. He also knew that the present need for him to fly to the utmost of his ability was paramount.

His curiosity satisfied, if not his appetite, with a final rueful glance at the washed up cetacean, the Grelfon scrambled down into a narrow rocky gully which meandered through the heaps of massive boulders at the mountain’s foot towards the green comfort of the sheltered valley. At the base of a large flat rock, the gully petered out and Jaknu hauled himself up. Wings spread wide, he let the afternoon sun finish drying the thick leathery membranes while he shook the last drops of moisture from his dense blue-black plumage, and licked one or two of the larger cuts on his forelegs. Every minute or so he flexed wings and muscles, appreciating the blood-warming heat, but his comfort was to be short-lived. Raising his head, he opened his mouth wide and lurched to his feet. Back arched, the Grelfon vomited gallons of murky vile-smelling liquid, mostly sea-water, into the gully below. Releasing a massive belch he then stretched each of his limbs in turn, looked around and gave himself a vigorous shake.

Wings pumping a whistling downdraught, he launched himself into the air and veered away from the mountain, banking steeply towards the valley. The garrulous screeching of seabirds reminded him of the whale’s corpse he had left behind, but once again the necessity of his task enforced restraint. Gliding swift and low along the valley’s edge, some inborn instinct urged him to twist and dive. Accelerated by some effectively applied Jadhrahin power, a spear whistled and whirred through the air, skimming his shoulder plumage. Wings flailing, Jaknu flipped over in a back roll and began tumbling towards the shrub-covered slope which sheltered the valley.

High on the mountain ledge where his brother’s broken body had so recently lain, the Jadhra warrior watched the tumbling Grelfon to the ground. Wings askew, the huge beast crashed into the foliage, painfully crawled a few feet then lay still, its head buried in the dense undergrowth. Minutes later, from a concealed entrance at the base of the mountain, half a dozen heavily armed Jadhrahin emerged, setting out at a steady trot to cover the long mile across the valley to the spot where the downed Grelfon lay.

* * *

Far beyond the mountain range, on the desert side, a small group of Grelfi quartered the ground on foot, searching for signs of the crevice which had swallowed a quarter of their number along with their elusive prey. Led by Grelfi captain Troak, the remainder of their squad circled high, winging ever closer to the hidden mountain stronghold of the Jadhrahin. Circling low over the sand, Troak led his small squadron in a detailed search. He had a feeling that the answer was not lying beneath their feet, but he would not abandon combing this area until he was certain no trace remained. Deciding not to interfere, he watched as his newest Grelfi eased his beast into a careful hover barely two feet above the ground. Leaning far out over his Grelfon’s shoulder, Arik peered at the apparently featureless sand below him. Abruptly he urged her to the ground, wriggling out of his harness and throwing the reins loose. No sooner had his feet touched the sand than she backed away and launched herself into the air in an evidently pre-arranged move. Arik jerked his head in disgust as her wingtip briefly scuffed the sand. He knelt down and burrowed his fingers into the loose, pink-hued grains, refusing to be distracted when Troak brought his grelfon winging down to settle nearby.

Only when the Grelfi chief dismounted and moved towards him did Arik stand up and frantically wave him back. “I can feel the edge under the sand. There’s nothing magic here. I think this could be a secret entrance, if we can get it open.”

Before Troak could answer, all uncertainty was removed. The extra weight of Troak and his huge beast proved too much for the magically weakened substrate. With a loud grinding moan, the desert opened once again. Their arms wind-milling, Troak and Arik teetered sideways onto an avalanche of slithering sand, Troak’s beast bellowing and clawing close behind them. Barely a minute later, the hot desert wind carried a young grelfon’s ululating wail of deprivation far across the rolling dunes.

* * *

Inching forward in a belly crawl through the lush grass of the valley floor, Buller kept his eyes firmly fixed on the motionless grelfon. A hundred yards away he rested on his elbows, slipped a finned bolt into its track and cocked his crossbow, the noise of the ratchet mingling with the raucous screams of soaring seabirds. Flanked by Jadhrahin, their power drawn and weapons ready, bowman Buller eased himself to his feet and raised the crossbow to his shoulder. Taking careful aim, he prepared to release the bolt. Crouched in the grass, the Jadhrahin waited for the bolt to fly. The anticipated shot never came.

Easing his finger back from the trigger, Buller slowly lowered the weapon. Holding it downwards, he released the bolt and pulled it out of the slide, every action smooth and easy. He crouched down, carefully placing the bow to one side before turning round and gesturing to the black-clad warriors to remain in position. His steps cautious and measured, he moved towards the motionless Grelfon. Fifty feet away he stopped, raising a restraining hand towards the rear and the waiting Jadhrahin. Moving sideways, Buller was able to get a full length view of the creature sprawled amongst the heavy foliage. His heart leapt. At the base of the neck he spotted a small but very familiar jagged white scar marring the symmetry of the closely overlapping scales.

A strangled cry bursting from his throat, Buller raced forward. “Jaknu!”

Whippy branches, thick stems and roots gave purchase as he hauled himself upwards. He tore through the waist-high growth and threw himself onto his knees beside the grelfon’s long scaly head. Close to choking, Buller placed a hand gently on the broad snout. “Jaknu?”

Slowly, the big slanted eyes opened, fixing their yellow gaze on Buller’s anguished face. Jaknu lifted his head and gave his caretaker an affectionate buff in the chest. Unable to engage in thought exchanges, the bowman grinned widely and gave his charge a hefty slap on the side of his long neck. Forgiven for his deception, Jaknu rose to his feet and started down the slope, flattening shrubs and crushing small trees into the ground beneath him. Using his wings for propulsion, in a flying gallop he raced across the valley floor, Buller and the Jadhrahin hard pressed to keep up and slowly falling behind. He slowed as he approached the base of the mountain, hanging back to give the warriors the chance to lead the way in. Once inside he followed his unique senses to find direction. Expecting the hurrying grelfon to head for his stabling cavern in search of Miqhal, who had still not returned, Buller was surprised and puzzled when instead, Jaknu began heading downwards. Jadhrahin in the tunnels frequently had to jump nimbly aside to avoid being knocked over.

Now some way behind, Buller called out “Watch him, see where he goes!”

Quickly outstripping his followers, Jaknu disappeared into the tunnel complex. A short distance from the main cavern they caught up with him. Finding the access tunnel too low and narrow for him to move through, he stood swinging his big head from side to side in obvious frustration. Buller ducked under Jaknu’s chin, slipped into the tunnel and down to the cavern, all eyes turning to watch him as he entered.

One of the elders stood. His face taut with anger he strode towards the bowman. “Why have you allowed the beast to approach here when Miqhal swore to keep him in the upper levels?”

Buller raised his hands in the air. He didn’t have time for this. “Jaknu found his own way. We couldn’t stop him, and there’s no sign of Miqhal. Jaknu is looking for something or someone. I just don’t know who or what. It could be Miqhal.”

The other elders rose to their feet and moved forward as, not bothering to reply, the first elder stepped round Buller and into the access tunnel. He walked quickly to the end, where Jaknu’s massive head and forelegs almost blocked the entrance. Waving the others back, the elder gestured up to the grelfon. Head lowered, Jaknu allowed the wizened elder to place one hand in the centre of his wide, sloping forehead. With some trepidation, Buller watched the unprecedented action, only too aware of the warning glint in Jaknu’s yellow eyes. For a long moment the elder stood with his hand on the grelfon’s forehead. Abruptly, Jaknu jerked his head to one side, sending the elder staggering against the tunnel wall. Neck lowered, the great beast peered down the short tunnel. Catching sight of Buller, he scraped impatiently at the rock floor with long vicious fore-claws, an ear-splitting screech bursting from his throat. The bowman dashed forward to give his charge a sharp slap on his blunt rounded snout.

Ceasing his clawing and screeching, Jaknu lowered his head and nudged Buller’s arm. Not certain what the massive creature wanted, the bowman did what he had seen others do when Jaknu and Miqhal had bonded, and what the elder had also done moments before. He placed his own hand on Jaknu’s wide brow. Startled, he snatched his hand away as a vivid image flashed into his mind. Giving a discontented rumble, Jaknu scratched again at the floor. His heart in his throat, his mouth dry, Buller replaced his hand on Jaknu’s brow. More slowly this time, the image was repeated. The bowman gasped. The large high ceilinged cavern he saw came as no surprise. It was the sight of a large body of water slowly swirling barely a pace or two away from Miqhal, pressed against the wall and obviously seriously injured, which roused waves of concern and anxiety.

The bowman snatched his hand away from Jaknu’s brow and spun round to face the watching elders, his words tumbling out incoherent and disjointed in his frustration. “Where is he? Jaknu knows where Miqhal is. Your chieftain is lying there injured!”

Finally he managed to voice the crucial question, almost screaming in his anxiety. “Where is there water underground? Where’s the lake that Jaknu just showed me?”

Humiliated, but recovered from Jaknu’s defiant thrust, the first elder stepped forward, going eye to eye with the agitated bowman. “Our water comes from the fall above the pool as it has for centuries. There is no lake.”

Buller glared back, his words clipped and heavily emphasised. “There
is
a lake. Jaknu has been there. Miqhal is there
now
.”

The elder’s self-important tone took Buller’s exasperation to new heights. “Then why did the creature not return with our peoples’ chieftain?”

The bowman’s eyes widened in disbelief at the elder’s attitude. His mouth set in a thin grim line he turned and squinted at Jaknu. Quickly the grelfon lowered his head, and Buller slapped an open palm on the scaled brow. He knew from the first image that Miqhal was injured, but the one he now received shocked and disturbed him.

Spinning round he came close to yelling at the elder. “Your chieftain is too badly injured. He can’t ride Jaknu! We have to find that lake and bring him out ourselves!”

Unmoved by Buller’s outburst, the elder turned away to confer with the other elders gathered near the tunnel exit. They moved together in a close circle, their voices failing to reach Buller pacing the ground in front of an equally restless Jaknu. After a few moments one of the group moved away and hurried back into the cavern. His impatience rising, the bowman was about to storm across to the conferring huddle when the chief elder turned.

Holding up a restraining hand he then gestured towards Jaknu. “We do not doubt the creature is truthful. Yet our history speaks not of any lake. However, as he has obviously been there, so he must find it again. Until then we are unable to go to the aid of our chieftain.”

The elder who had gone back to the cavern returned and placed a cloth-wrapped bundle in the chief elder’s hand.

He held out the bundle towards Buller. “You may find these of some assistance in your search.”

Before the stunned bowman could frame a reply, the elders had turned away and were striding down the access tunnel and out of sight. Unable to comprehend the elders’ apparently callous and uncaring attitude, Buller half-heartedly unwrapped the bundle, letting the cloth fall to the floor. Three of the magical torches lay in his hand. Tucking one into his belt he passed the others over to the two nearest Jadhra.

He looked up at Jaknu then slowly round at each one of the warriors who had accompanied him. “We have to head downwards, find a tunnel in line with that waterfall. The lake where Miqhal is must be the source.”

One of the warriors stepped forward, his face unreadable. “Send the creature back in where the fall comes out.”

Buller shook his head. “That won’t work. The force of the water would be enormous. Strong as he is, he wouldn’t be able to make any headway.”