Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (21 page)

'My lovely clean kitchen! You 'orrible dirty sweep!
Get out! Out, out, out!'
She snatched at Elisop then clambering to her feet, managed to grasp hold of him. She marched him through the kitchen after Pardigan and Quint, flung open the door and tossed him out into the darkness of the street with a further kick to his behind to send him on his way. Pardigan and Quint managed to squeeze past and both got a heavy clout round his ear as they passed.

'An' don't you ever come back in here. I shall have words with the guild and have you taken to the arena. I shall watch and laugh as your killed, the three of you, so I shall.'

Once out into the cold night, and the door slammed shut behind them, the cook's angry voice could still be clearly heard as she turned on her staff for allowing the dirty trio into her kitchens.

From the top of the building Mahra's head swivelled down to stare at the main palace entrance where a band of warriors were now keeping guard. She had heard the Queen screaming in pain for some reason and had prayed to the Source that the boys hadn't been caught. She watched in relief as three sorry looking figures were ejected from the smaller doorway accompanied by a chorus of yells and shrieks to run scampering into the rain. Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, she glanced out across the city.

The pit had now emptied, and the city streets were once again returning to life. Lamplighters were doing their job, walking on stilts from one lamp to the next setting a smoky flame to each oily wick. There appeared to be outbreaks of arson with several fires breaking out spontaneously around the city as the crowd left the arena, helping to illuminate the night and drive back the veil of black rain. The sound of screaming was coming from several directions as citizens, driven to a violent frenzy by their day's entertainment, sought their own amusements in the shadows and narrow streets of the city. With a shudder and feelings of pity for the residents of this evil society, Mahra took off in search of her friends.

As she landed next to the panting trio as they huddled in a doorway, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and the rain fell even heavier, quickly becoming a downpour. After a brief conversation, the four figures set off in search of Mayhem and the Chaos temple that had become the temporary home of the skulls.

* * *

When a wraith attacks, it does so quickly, quietly and with devastating efficiency. When the flock of wraiths, unleashed by the Emperor, Djinn Tsai, reached Dhurban, they swept through the unprepared city decimating its citizens who were simply unable to fight an invisible enemy.

A little girl, of about ten summers witnessed the first attack. It happened just after she entered her grandfather's shop and handed him his morning brew, he had smiled his thanks and then the world as she knew it turned upside down.

Moments later, she ran out into the main street shrieking. Blood covered her loose gown and tears were flowing down her cheeks. As the air in her lungs gave out, the shriek trailed off, and she was left gasping for air and trembling, the first symptoms of shock beginning to take their grip on her young body.

Two guardsmen were standing close to the shop entrance, and they both reacted immediately. One had tried to catch her as she pushed past, still screaming; the other had dashed into the small shop.

'What happened?' cried the guard holding the girl, but she wouldn't make eye contact. She was gulping for air and still making a strange high-pitched wail. She struggled, trying to break away from him. Holding on, he shook her, trying to bring some sense back into her, realising with some relief that the blood on her gown surely could not be hers, she was far too lively to have spilled that amount of blood, there was far, far too much. Glancing up to the empty doorway where his partner had entered the building, he turned back to the girl. 'Listen to me… please, calm down. Tell me what happened?' She didn't answer but suddenly went slack in his arms, falling against him sobbing. He held her, and his attention was drawn back to the door of the shop where, with some relief, he saw his partner had just emerged.

'There's blood everywhere! An old man and young boy… they're both dead,' his eyes were wide, his chest heaving, '… so much blood, everywhere… it's like a butchers shop, a charnel house in there, I don't know how but…' He didn't get a chance to finish.

The guard holding the girl watched in a fascinated horror as his friend's face creased in agony and blood spewed from a wound that suddenly appeared in his side. Glancing down, the man screamed long and hard then dropped to his knees. His head flew back, a thin red line crossed his throat and, silent at last, he fell forward into the dusty sand of the street, dead, blood pooling about him, greedily soaked up by the dry sand of the street.

Throwing the sobbing girl to the side, the remaining guard fumbled for his whistle and the first shrill sound of alarm filled the city streets. Moments later, it ceased as his life also became forfeit. Other whistles, screams and cries for help began to fill the air across the city as the wraiths attacked in earnest.

From dawn when they arrived, throughout the day and well into the darkest part of the night, the wraiths haunted the desert city's cramped twisting streets, hunting down its citizens, satisfying their need to take life. Once the easy kills were over, they moved from building to building, silently seeking out any terrified people that thought they had found a place to hide, shivering in fear and desperation, slowly driven to madness as their minds, unable to grasp what this unseen, unknown enemy, this nightmare that had visited them, really was! How can you fight something you cannot see yet you know will kill you?

Sometime before dawn of the second day, the ruler of the city, the Sultan, ordered his Magician to destroy the wraiths and the Magician eventually managed to conjure a minor demon that could actually see the wraiths, and, therefore, hunt and kill them. The curse of the wraiths had been devastating, leaving more than half of Dhurban's citizens now dead. Unfortunately, although it swiftly cleared the streets of wraiths, it would take a few more days to catch and kill the minor demon that, upon running out of wraiths to kill, had been a little reluctant to return to the demon realm and was now fighting the Sultan's troops.

While the Sultan's guards sought to tackle the demon, a group of citizens built a fire outside the city gates, where the wraiths' bodies that once dead, became visible, could be brought and burned. There were a lot of wraiths to burn and soon a tall column of greasy black smoke rose high into the deep blue, desert sky. The smoke acted as a beacon for the approaching army still some day's march across the sand.

The Sultan rallied his troops, closed the great gates of the city and sent further emissaries to their allies in the Realm. King Hugo Payne had promised an army in a united bid to turn back this threat that approached across the Great Expanse. However, as the Sultan stood on his private balcony, gazing across the shimmering desert, he was beginning to fear his city would be meeting these invaders alone.

A day later, the city was still in turmoil but somewhat calmer as many that hadn't rested since the wraiths had arrived were now taking the opportunity to sleep during the hottest part of the day, the weary ache of exhaustion drawing them quickly into slumber. Nobody noticed the small black demon as it moved along the palace walls. As it slipped along, jumping from perch to perch, it chattered softly to itself, scuttling from window to tree to column, peeking into rooms and gazing down corridors.

The little demon's ears twitched as it listened and gawped out from the shadows enjoying the freedom, hiding whenever it encountered anyone, slowly making its way further towards the private apartments of the royal quarters.

'Seek out a Royal Prince or Princess,' had been the command given by its master; and this it was doing as fast as it could, skirting any larger common rooms or sleeping areas that were occupied by more than one person. It stared through windows blinking huge lantern eyes, becoming more anxious to find someone alone, aware that, as time passed, its master would be becoming angrier for the delay.

Near the end of the royal complex, it scuttled up onto a balcony and cautiously peered through silken curtains into a darkened sleeping area, its thin serpentine tongue flicked out to taste the air. There, on the bed, lay a single human female. It noticed happily that no handmaidens or guards attended, and that the richness of the furnishings showed this was indeed a royal apartment, silent except for the even breathing of the sleeping figure. Nhasic chattered in delight, called silently, and then slipped into the room to see what mischief he could create before his master arrived.

It wasn't long before a scream broke the calm of the royal apartments and the sound of guards hurrying through the ornately tiled corridors filled the hot afternoon.

'Stop, please… take your hands off… … you cannot take the Princess… Princess!
Noooooo!
'

Another scream rent the air. Three guards burst into the Princess Fajira's sleeping quarters and, hurrying to the bedchamber, were in time to see the Princess's handmaiden thrown to the floor by a tall, cloaked figure. Wrapped in her sheets and tossed casually across her abductor's shoulder, the struggling Princess was kicking and squealing through the layers of cloth. The guards dashed forward, and the stranger spun to face them, stopping them short.

Dressed in a long black cloak with the hood drawn over his head, evil emanated from him. From the dark depths, red eyes flashed towards the bunched guards, a rumble of deep laughter mocking any attempts they might make to stop him.

Drawing deep upon reserves of courage, the guard captain drew his sabre and leapt forward in defence of his royal charge, sword arm snaking forward in an attempt to wound the intruder, he screamed, '
Unhand the Princess!
' But the stranger casually brushed the blade aside and raised a claw-like hand to cover the captain's face. The captain's eyes widened in fear as through the fingers that gripped him he saw thin evil lips pull back in a sneer of contempt, and then a blinding red flash of heat and light filled his vision and then burnt the flesh from his bones.

'One more gift for the Emperor,' cried Matheus Hawk, throwing the lifeless body to the side and striding onto the balcony. 'A royal soul to tantalise his taste buds.' A great red dragon rose up beside the balcony and the Hawk swung his legs over and onto the strange creatures back. As it dropped away, the guards rushed forward, only to be turned away screaming as a red, flaming ball was casually tossed into the room instantly turning the bedchamber into an inferno.

At the last moment, a small black shape dashed past the screaming men, leapt out and just managed to catch onto the dragon's flank as it turned away. Clambering up, it worked its way along to perch on the horny red head and waved a stolen gold bangle at them, screeching raucously.

The voice of the stranger echoed back around the palace, rising over the whooshing sound of the dragon's wings. 'Beware the Soul Eaters for they are coming… but beware Matheus Hawk even more, for I have arrived!'

The dragon struggled to heave its great weight aloft, driven through the warm still air by heavy beats of its thick, leathery wings. The long neck and tail writhing with effort, its legs clawing at the empty air as if clambering up an invisible staircase. With arrows bouncing harmlessly from its scaly hide, it dipped down to gain speed and skimmed the city wall, sending soldiers diving for cover. The rumbling laughter of the Hawk echoed down to the desert-city and the few shocked citizens that stood in witness. By the time the Sultan got word of his daughter's abduction, the dragon was no longer in sight.

* * *

'That one keeps picking his nose,' said Loras pointing and giggling in disgust. He was standing with Tarent, staring through the magical curtain he had constructed enjoying the novelty of being so close to the fierce Barbarian warriors on the other side without being seen. 'I don't know what he expects to find up there, but he keeps checking his finger to see what he's got!

'Oh, behave Loras!' cried Tarent, grinning at his friend.

'It's not me! He's the one playing 'hide the finger!' and look. This one playing dice with his back to us is cheating; at least I think he is. It's a bit different from the 'old jack bones' that we play.'

The Barbarians had left three warriors behind to guard the strange wall. Three warriors, who were apparently quite unaware of their critical audience, had settled in as any guard post would. They were crouching around a small fire they had managed to build amongst some rocks and were doing their best to shelter from the gusting snow. To pass the time they had managed to scrape away a smooth patch of rock and were now throwing four, crudely cut dice in a game similar to the one that
The Griffin's
crew usually played with a set of six dice.

Loras and Tarent were close enough to touch the warriors and had to be careful they didn't. They still weren't carrying any weapons, which meant they could walk through the curtain, or fall straight through if they weren't careful! For their part, the warriors could neither see nor hear anything from the other side because they each carried both swords and knives and the curtain's magic prevented anyone carrying weapons from seeing, hearing or passing through.

'For the love of all that's comfortable! Why can't we just get going?' moaned Bartholomew for the umpteenth time. Above the fir-lined fringe of his winter cloak, his bright red cheeks wobbled with bubbling frustration. 'There are only three of them!' He glanced about at the others in an appeal for common sense. 'The quicker we leave this Source deserted outpost, the quicker we get back to the luxuries civilisation has to offer… this is an awful, cold, nasty place!' He stamped his feet in frustration.

'It isn't them that's keeping us here, Mr Bask,' muttered Magician Falk in a half-hearted attempt at calming the unhappy merchant. With a shiver, he pulled his cloak tighter as the wind gusted. 'It's the other forty or so that just recently left. We'll be moving soon enough, don't you worry.'

The guards had packed most of their belongings back into the wagon and were now pacing up and down, stamping their feet in an effort to keep warm, ready for the order to be off. Even the horses had been rested, fed and saddled and were shuffling unhappily. In fact, everyone was just waiting for word from either Loras or Tarent to move out, which was something everyone seemed resigned to do, everyone, except of course for Bartholomew. No matter what, he just could not come to grips with taking direction from a 'mere snip of a boy,' as he referred to either of them. He had recently taken to ignoring them completely and speaking only to Magician Falk whenever he wanted to communicate, which, unfortunately for Magician Falk, was often and at length.

'Well, I suppose we might as well get going,' said Tarent, turning from watching the warriors. He had been listening to Bartholomew's moaning and whining for far too long and was ready to move off and put a little distance between himself and the merchant's wagon. He cast about for a rock and walked back a little way picking up two. He weighed them carefully before discarding one and advancing on the warriors the other side of the curtain.'

'
Wait!
' cried Magician Falk running forward to place a restraining hand on Tarent's chest. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'Clearing the way,' said Tarent sheepishly. He dropped the rock. 'Maybe it would be better if you put them to sleep?'

'Yes, Priest of the Source, I think it probably would,' said Magician Falk, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked over to the curtain. Taking a handful of something from a pouch, he reached through the curtain and sprinkled a dusty mixture over the seated warriors on the other side, being careful to cover his mouth with his cloak as he did so.

They would have noticed nothing of the dust, but just before falling unconscious; one of the warriors did glance up. His eyes opened wide in fear, and his lips began to form a scream as he pointed at what must have looked like a hand materialising over his friend's head. The other two guards tried to see what had upset him but were both sleeping before they got a chance to see what all the commotion was about.

Tarent led the column past the snoring warriors and, after locating their weapons, gave a last look at the blue griffin on the cliff face to mark it in his mind, then began to plod back up the Bolt towards the ship and safety. Between them, stood the same inhospitable terrain and foul weather they had battled through to get to the Bolt in the first place, coupled with the likely chance of meeting more of Morgasta's warriors. Once again, as the small party picked their way through the wet stones, the sounds of the wagon creaking, the horses' hooves slipping on the rocks and, of course, Bartholomew Bask's incessant moaning, all began to mingle with the whine of the wind.