War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (28 page)

Arms folded, his expression dark, Miqhal had watched his Jadhrahin speed across the cavern to swiftly and easily disarm the gaunt-faced, wild-eyed Vedrans. There had been little resistance. The majority, having already succumbed to a combination of numbing cold and oppressive unrelieved darkness, were only vaguely aware of what was happening around them. Lack of water and the effects of being forced to spend so long in the claustrophobic confines of the deep underground complex had taken their toll. Even so, there were still a small handful who had not allowed conditions to get the better of them. Despite severely diminished stamina their wits remained sharp. Hostile and determined to resist to the last, they attempted to struggle to their feet. One of these was Ushak. Grimacing, he pushed himself upright. Despite the subterranean chill, beads of sweat sprang from his forehead and trickled down his temples.

His face a mask of contempt and loathing, he glared at Miqhal. “So; a few of you rats escaped. Lord Ghian said you were all dead, killed by the wraiths he summoned.”

Miqhal’s dark eyes glinted cruelly in the cold blue glow of a dozen handheld torches. “The wraiths serve those who best serve them.”

His breathing ragged, Ushak gave Miqhal a derogatory smirk and gestured towards his captured fellow soldiers. “We aren’t alone. There are hundreds of us down in this damned place.”

The Jadhra chieftain returned the smirk. “Seventy-four to be exact, not including those who now sleep forever in the tunnels. As for the few who have lost their minds, our womenfolk have the charge of those unfortunates. The others have been taken to share our hospitality.”

Ushak’s lip twitched in an involuntary sneer. With difficulty he spat. “Don’t you mean torture? We know what you do to prisoners.”

Miqhal gave the pain-wracked man a pitying glance. “Then you are sadly misinformed. Torture is, at best, a cruel means to an inevitable end; at worst, brutal and unnecessary and not our custom.”

Wary, suspicious and unconvinced, Ushak sipped from the water-skin he had been handed. His orange eyes gazing coldly at the Jadhra chieftain, he held the water in his mouth, repressing an urge to spit it out into the calm, confident face. Instead he swallowed the cool refreshing liquid. Wordlessly he handed back the water-skin and began to look around him as Miqhal strode away. The steady flames of a dozen more torches set into wall sconces revealed the enormity of the task Ushak had set himself in his attempt to lead his companions out. Fighting an inner battle with despair, he struggled to prevent it from overwhelming him as more of their captors entered through the tall narrow crevice in the wall opposite. He watched as one of them removed something from inside his black tunic. Crouching down, the Jadhra warrior held the object under the nose of one of the unconscious Vedrans. Only mildly interested, Ushak watched as the object was held under the noses of half a dozen more unconscious Vedrans, stirring them into spluttering wakefulness. Leaning his back straight against the cavern wall, Ushak concentrated on his breathing. Through half closed eyelids he assessed the distance to the crevice. All the Jadhrahin were now busy in the cavern, attending to their captives or bundling up weapons. A prickling chill spread itself across Ushak’s shoulders, crept up his neck and into the crown of his head.

Opening his eyes fully, he felt his gaze drawn to his left, down towards the centre of the cavern. Miqhal stood there, one hand resting casually on the hilt of a broad viciously curved blade slung at his hip. Unflinching, Ushak returned the Jadhra chieftain’s stare. They held for the space of a few heartbeats until, with a sneering twist of his mouth, Ushak lowered his gaze, half closed his eyes and returned his thoughts to assessment of the crevice. Left alone and undisturbed he followed the movements of the Jadhrahin with occasional sidelong glances. His adrenalin began to surge. Miqhal had turned away and appeared to be in deep conversation with one of his lieutenants, while the others were beginning to haul the weakened Vedrans to their feet. Slowly Ushak pushed himself upright, his efforts receiving only a cursory glance and a nod from the nearest Jadhra. He was to be left to get on with it. Stretching and flexing, he rolled his shoulders as he allowed himself a brief half smile. He bent down to touch his toes, checking that the knife still lay concealed down the inside of his boot before beginning to straighten up again.

Making a dash for the crevice, Ushak had covered more than half the width of the cavern when, with a roar of pain, he crashed to the floor, a narrow-bladed knife lodged firmly in the back of his thigh. Four more flickering blades hung arrested in mid-flight, hovering briefly in the air before clattering onto the floor.

His hand still raised in the follow through from the potentially deadly throw, Miqhal nodded in Ushak’s direction. “I want him, and I want him alive.”

Wounded and humiliated, Ushak began a painful crawl across the cold granite, a trail of blood smearing behind him. Groaning through clenched teeth, his breathing harsh and ragged, he clutched at his leg as he attempted to stand. Half upright, his wounded limb outstretched, he slumped against the cold comfort of the nearest wall. The chieftain gestured to one of his lieutenants. Upright and self assured, the man strode across the cavern to retrieve the fallen knives. Tucking them into his waistband, he moved to stand over Ushak. Without warning the desert warrior slugged the Vedran quickly and cleanly under the chin. Before he could crumple to the floor, strong hands caught him and dragged him across the cavern to be dropped unceremoniously in front of his fellow Vedrans.

Leaving by the way they had entered, Miqhal unerringly led the Jadhrahin and their captives through the vast complex of caverns and tunnels. The only sound was the strained breathing of the Vedran soldiers, with occasional grunts and protests from those who unwillingly carried the wounded and unconscious Ushak.

High above the city, Ghian and his queen grelfon soared on a broad, strong thermal. White-knuckled with fury, his fists clenched round the leather of the harness, the Grelfine lord glowered at the scene below. The city where his power had been developed and nurtured, whose streets and looming buildings he had envisaged becoming the centre of the world he intended and felt destined to rule, now lay inundated by the storm’s burden. Little more than a quarter of the ancient, brooding city now stood visible. Like black mocking fingers, the grelfon towers thrust above the rippled and storm-sculpted surface, their broad crenellated tops blasted tantalisingly clear of sand and the customary layer of rotting remnants.

Seething with rage, Ghian bellowed a stream of vituperative curses as he urged his beast to fly low, searching for some tell-tale sign of the ancient courtyard’s location. His consummate need to summon the wraiths overcame any concerns he may have had for the city’s few displaced citizens or for his soldiers. Temple guards and Grelfi alike were now reduced to shovelling sand, aided by the limited magic of the priests in an effort to restore the temple district to at least some semblance of normality. Blinded by his own desires and ambitions, and oblivious to the warning screams of his grelfon, Ghian angrily curbed his mount with a short rein, failing to see the dark speck soaring high and far above the distant haze of the desert’s horizon. But Jaknu and Miqhal had seen him.

By the time wide bands of magenta and orange were streaking the deep purple of the dawn sky, Jadhra and grelfon had twice over-flown the half-buried city. Now they returned to the mountain ledge where two days before Miqhal had stood to weave and cast the complex weather spell which had unleashed the desert’s fury. Following Jaknu into the concealed crevice, the Jadhra chieftain enjoyed a deep surge of anticipation. He now had over seventy new warriors to impress and train. Knowing it would not be easy, and that time was a luxury he could not afford, he had already set in place the first part of his plan to win them over. As always, he attended personally to the feeding and comfort of his grelfon before heading down to the single vast cavern which served as a temporary prison for the captured Vedran soldiers. Two unarmed black-clad Jadhrahin guarded the short narrow tunnel which provided the only visible access.

Miqhal touched a hand to his chest in greeting. “Have they been any trouble?”

The guards returned the greeting, and the older one gave a wry grimace. “They’re too busy gorging themselves to cause trouble.” He frowned. “We shall have no food for ourselves if we hold them much longer.”

Miqhal gripped the man’s shoulder. “It will not be a problem. The matter is already well in hand. Now, wait here and remain alert. Things may start to liven up shortly.”

Beneath the ceiling of the cavern, three hovering Perimus orbs poured their shadowless light onto expectant Vedran faces as Miqhal entered. With his lean well-muscled body clad in the comfortably fitted black garments and intricately folded head-dress of a desert chieftain, he made an impressive figure.

A querulous voice called out in the guttural tones of the Vedran patois. “How long are you going to keep us here?”

Ignoring the question, Miqhal folded his arms, his eyes searching. “Which of you is the leader?”

There was a long silence as the Vedrans nervously exchanged glances. Eventually one of them pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, a defiant glint in his eyes. “Lieutenant Abrak went mad. He’s in one o’ those blasted caverns o’ yours, back there. Ushak, the one who took over…well, you cut ‘im down and knocked ‘im cold.”

Quickly he looked about him but there was no sign of Ushak. With a brief nod the Jadhra chieftain signalled for the soldier to sit down. The man had unkempt hair, and food stains spattered the front of his tunic. Miqhal knew he would not be the type of soldier he was looking for. Scanning the cavern, his dark eyes found the soldier who had asked the question.

Taking care to keep his movements unthreatening, Miqhal stepped towards him.

“What are you called?”

His initial bravado temporarily abandoning him, the young soldier looked nervously round at his companions. Miqhal took another step forward to stand barely a pace distant.

Clenching his fists, the Vedran glared defiantly up at the tall Jadhra chieftain. “I am called Rashk.” His chin came up in a gesture of misplaced pride. “I am Grelfi.”

If his intention was to impress or intimidate, it fell flat. Miqhal merely nodded as he turned away. “We shall keep you here only as long as you wish to stay.”

The seated Vedrans began to shuffle and murmur. Miqhal stopped, turned round to face them again, and held up a cautionary hand. “First, hear what I have to say. Consider my words carefully, then choose a leader and follow his advice.”

He looked round at the restive group as another stood up, his voice cutting through the rising swell. “If we don’t like what you say, will you lead us out to the surface?”

Folding his arms across his chest, Miqhal nodded. “If that is still your wish when I have finished, then my warriors will guide you safely out.”

The questioner called for quiet and sat down again. For the benefit of a few small inimical groups at the outer edges who had not bothered to move closer, Miqhal drew a little power and amplified his voice. He wanted there to be no misunderstandings.

“You will not be held here against your will. It is through no fault of your own that you found yourselves lost and abandoned in our underground system. Unlike Lord Ghian, I would not stoop so low as to send my loyal warriors into any situation I would not go into myself.

“You have been treated in a way the Jadhrahin would not treat a dog. He who claims to be little less than a god, and no doubt sent you to locate and recover certain artefacts, will have no qualms about sacrificing each and every one of you to further his own ends. His desire for wealth, power and domination will prove to be his downfall.

“If any of you do decide to attempt making your way back to Vedra, you will be wasting your lives for a cause that is already lost. We have given you food and water, seriously depleting our own supplies. These cannot be replenished without a considerable amount of forward planning and physical effort. But it can, and will be done. Of that I have no doubts. We shall not starve. On the other hand, if we release you it is quite likely that you men will.”

Rashk sprang to his feet. “There’s plenty of food in Vedra. Supplies are brought in every month by a secret route.”

The Jadhra gave the Vedran a flat gaze. “And how will you return to Vedra?”

“Through the tunnels of course! You just said you’d lead us out.”

“To the surface, yes. Unfortunately for you, a severe sandstorm has altered the face of the desert. Once on the surface you would not only have to be certain where Vedra lies, but also survive a crossing of the changed and changing sands to get there.

“Now you have eaten, rest here, gather your strength and discuss your options. Above, nightfall returns to the desert, and with it bitter chill. In the morning I will hear your decision.”

Making the accepted sign of peace and respect, Miqhal turned away and walked slowly towards the far end of the massive oval chamber where a hundred or more of his warriors had gathered to eat their evening meal. Those who had been assigned guard duty over the Vedrans would be relieved shortly.

In a torch-lit alcove barely longer than he was tall and about as wide, Miqhal knelt beside a makeshift bed of blankets and horse-hide. Assisted by one of the women-folk assigned to the task of caring for the sick and injured, the Jadhra chieftain rolled the still unconscious Ushak onto his side. Buried almost up to its hilt in the back of the Vedran’s thigh, the slender throwing knife glinted dully in the torchlight. Miqhal studied it for a long moment. Taking a short cutting knife from inside his waistband he opened a long slit in the worn leather around the wound, then placed the knife aside. His strong slender fingers closed round the protruding hilt of the throwing knife. Murmuring quietly, he slowly drew it towards him until all but the tip of the gleaming blade had left the dense coarse flesh of Ushak’s leg.

The tribeswoman moved forward to hand Miqhal a fist-sized bundle of dried but soft and pliable grey-green foliage. Still holding the knife hilt steady, the Jadhra chieftain packed the leaves against the short but deep gash in Ushak’s leg, pressing it firmly as he withdrew the last inch of the slender blade. Still murmuring, he nodded to the woman. Leaning forward she secured the bundle of herbs with her hand as Miqhal released it, rose fluidly to his feet and turned away.

* * *

Thankful for full stomachs, the majority of the captives had wrapped themselves in the blankets they had been given and settled down to sleep. Determined to turn the situation to their own benefit, a few others had cautiously sought each other out. Casting occasional sullen glances across the cavern towards a small group of unarmed but vigilant Jadhrahin guards, the Vedrans huddled together whispering in the soldiers’ coarse patois.

Fists clenched against his food-stained leather tunic, the soldier Miqhal had earlier rejected, leaned forward, slanted eyes glinting darkly in the torchlight. “There’s six o’ them and eight of us. Reckon we could take ‘em?”

His question elicited a snort of derision from one of his companions. “Didn’t know you could count that far, Drakk. Keep it up and you might be able to count a few dozen more if you look around.”

Drakk’s thin black lips curled back against his pointed yellow teeth. “By the time
they
get here Tarek, we can have them other guards down.” He glanced briefly towards the darkly inviting maw of the exit. “We work it right we can be out through that opening over there before them others even get to us.”

Tarek kept his voice low as he made a show of studying a cut on the back of his hand. “What were you thinking then?”

Drakk edged forward on his buttocks, leather trousers scraping softly on the granite floor. “We split up. Make a diversion so they have two lots of us to deal with.” Keeping his hand low, he pointed to his companions. “You four ain’t as fit and fast as me and Tarek so what I reckon is this.”

A few minutes later muted conversations quickly stilled, while Jadhrahin alertness sprang to a higher level. Raised in heated argument, the harsh timbre of Vedran voices carried across the huge cavern. Drakk’s scaly hand shot forward. Gripping Tarek roughly by the shoulder he lifted him bodily to his feet. Their faces scant inches apart the two Vedrans glared into each other’s yellow eyes. Tarek pushed and Drakk retaliated, quickly creating distance between them and their crouching companions. The Jadhrahin guards moved in.

Faces contorted with hatred, Drakk and Tarek leapt towards them. Their fellow soldiers jumped to their feet and began their dash across the cavern towards the narrow exit. Drakk moved swiftly towards a young Jadhra warrior. Fit and lithe, he would be more of a threat to their escape. As Drakk feigned a side step to his left, the guard stepped to his right in a counter move. Drakk leapt into the air. Extending the full force of his muscular legs, he dealt a stunning blow to the neck of the young guard, snapping it and killing him instantly. Landing heavily, Drakk began a stumbling run towards the exit. From the corner of his eye he spotted Tarek grappling with an older guard, attempting to wrest a knife from the Jadhra’s hand. Drakk kept running.

Surprised by the attack of the two Vedrans, the old warrior had been caught off balance. A younger Jadhra warrior, especially one of such great standing would have truly ended Tarek’s life in that instant, but the years had caught up with the old soldier. Holding and pushing, Tarek assaulted the man’s body with a series of inside punches until he sensed the old warrior was weakening. Slowly they started to move backwards. Despite his skills and experience the Jadhra’s strength was failing. No match for the younger Vedran, one final, hugely determined push from Tarek sent him tumbling backwards. The old warrior’s head struck the granite floor and he lay still.

In seconds the swift hands and flying feet of the Jadhrahin had sent two of the escaping Vedrans crashing to the floor. The remaining two, more skilled in unarmed combat, circled and feinted, trading vicious kicks and stinging chops with their guards. Miqhal’s expression was thunderous. Having brought these men to safety, given them a modicum of comfort and shared his tribe’s food with them, still they chose to repay with violence. Drawing in power he held it in check as, woken by the commotion, small groups of Vedrans got to their feet. Shedding their blankets they began to move ominously forward. Only if his own warriors were in danger of being overcome would Miqhal intervene. Concealed by a deeply shadowed cleft, the Jadhra chieftain watched.

The half dozen Vedran soldiers who had begun the upheaval now lay twitching and groaning. Bruised and broken, they had finally been incapacitated by a series of accurate flying kicks, and a rapid succession of precise and practised punches. Undeterred by the sight of their seriously injured comrades, a dozen or more Vedrans surged forward. Short bursts of power quivered through the cavern as those Jadhrahin who were gifted enhanced their fighting prowess. Swift moves flowed and glided in an effortless, skilfully co-ordinated and choreographed martial ballet.

In a few short minutes it was all over. Already weakened by their ordeal in the dark terror of the tunnels, those Vedrans who had joined the retaliation lay where they had fallen, broken in body and spirit. Alert for any other Vedran who might decide to make a further attempt, Miqhal’s warriors scanned the cavern, their faces taut with scorn and disdain. Backing away, they left the beaten Vedrans where they had fallen. Those who had woken but taken no part in the affray found themselves being crowded by black-clad unarmed Jadhrahin. Remaining alert, the desert warriors touched fingers to forehead, lips and chest as they solemnly witnessed the removal of the bodies of their two fellow warriors.