War of Power (The Trouble with Magic Book 3) (31 page)

Consciousness crept over his brain like a foraging rat, sniffing and enquiring. Eyes closed, Ushak lay still, recalling recent events while attuning every sense to the sounds and smells constantly bombarding his ears and nostrils. Gradually he became aware that his motionless body was feeling no pain. Overcoming an initial reluctance, he slowly moved his foot, rotating the ankle, first to one side and then the other. Not willing to trust to the initial surge of satisfaction, he cautiously slid his foot along the surface of the thin horsehair mattress beneath him, drawing up his knee as he steeled himself for the stinging pull of damaged muscle. Again he felt no pain, simply a little tightness of the coarse skin at the back of his thigh. He slid his hand slowly down beneath the blanket which covered him, his exploring fingers pausing to investigate the long neat cut in his leather trousers. Tentatively he searched along the back of his thigh for the knife-wound which had brought him crashing so painfully and ignominiously down. Only when his fingertips brushed against the tender ridge of healed flesh and skin did the pieces of the intriguing puzzle begin to fall into place.

Easing his leg straight, he opened his eyes. He lifted his hands from beneath the brightly striped blanket, letting them rest on his stomach while he flicked sidelong glances at his surroundings. Having taken in all he could with the minimum of movement, Ushak pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around him. From the shadows at the rear of the alcove, a figure moved forward. He watched as the woman placed an earthenware bowl of clear water just within his reach, before stepping quickly back.

Briefly nodding his thanks, the Vedran reached across and dipped two claw-tipped fingers into the cold water. Raising them to his lips he kept his flat yellow gaze fixed on the woman, as he sucked the moisture into his parched mouth. For long moments he waited, fingers lingering near his black lips, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face. Satisfied he had not been drugged or poisoned, Ushak swung his lean body sideways and lifted the bowl off the stone floor. As much as he longed to gulp it down, he sipped slowly and steadily, knowing his restraint would reduce the likelihood of him throwing up in front of his captors. His mind working rapidly, he continued to sip at the water, not pausing as the woman warily approached him again. Peering over the rim of the bowl, Ushak grimaced as his stomach responded to the savoury aroma of the sliced meat in the dish she hastily placed in front of him. Briefly their eyes met, her full lips twitching in a shy half smile. Leaving him to deal with the food as best he could, she hurried out into the cavern. The Vedran’s unblinking gaze followed her until she disappeared into another alcove on the far side.

Unable to resist the allure of the meat, Ushak drew the dish towards him. Quelling the urge to wolf down the dark contents, he hooked out a small piece, sniffed it then slipped it into his mouth. Chewing slowly on the tasty meat he continued to watch for a while. Mentally recording everything, his gaze travelled calmly and steadily around the alcove where he sat, then on into the furthest reaches of the cavern. He frowned at the sight of a large group of his fellow Vedrans huddled against a far wall. Many of them obviously nursed painful injuries under the dark watchful gaze of a number of Jadhrahin. Repressing a vengeful snarl, Ushak’s black lips curled as he watched two of the black-clad warriors apparently engrossed in some kind of board game. Mentally, he scoffed. True warriors did not play such games.

Favouring his injured leg and alert to any movement or glances in his direction, he eased himself off the mattress and onto his feet. No-one seemed to be taking any notice of him. He bent down and picked up the dish of meat. Looking under heavy brows round the cavern, he clawed another chunk from the dish and tossed it into his wide mouth. As he chewed, he focussed his yellow-eyed gaze on a narrow outcrop of rock casting a patch of deep shadow against the cavern wall about twenty feet away. Still holding the dish of meat, Ushak reached out with his free hand and pulled the striped blanket off the thin mattress. With the blanket draped over his shoulder he moved towards the cave wall, his attention seemingly fixed on selecting another chunk of meat. As he turned to lean on the wall, his gaze travelled slowly round the cavern, his agile mind noting once again the Jadhrahin numbers and positions. He could see no sign of their chieftain. Ushak allowed himself a grim smile before stuffing a large piece of meat into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he placed the dish carefully on the floor, folded the blanket into a thick pad, dropped it at the base of the wall, and sat down.

Flanked by two of his warriors, Miqhal watched the Vedran sidle into the patch of deep shadow afforded by the rocky buttress, his dark skin, black hair and clothing serving to render him almost invisible. Miqhal waited. Only heartbeats later, a breathy hiss of satisfaction escaped from the Jadhra chieftain’s lips. The Vedran had slipped out of the cavern into the cold darkness of the rock-hewn passage beyond. Miqhal emerged from the concealment of the alcove, strode across the cavern and stopped at the passage entrance to listen. All was silent. Signalling his warriors to stay put, Miqhal stepped into the passage. A short distance along lay all-enveloping blackness. On softly booted feet, Miqhal trod slowly up the gradual incline with the sure-footedness born of familiarity. His acute sense of smell easily detected the Vedran’s pungent body odours, his finely attuned hearing picking up the ragged sounds of nervous, uncertain breathing. Seconds later a muffled curse and the unmistakeable noise of confused scrabbling reached his ears. He waited, his senses reaching ahead. Inwardly, he too cursed. The Vedran had gone the wrong way. The passage he had taken led to only one place. He had to be stopped. A puff of breeze swirling briefly in the cold stillness of the passage was the only witness to Miqhal’s exit.

One hand against the chilling dryness of the passage wall, Ushak stared vainly into the impenetrable darkness. A whisper of softly aromatic air teased his nostrils, brushing delicately across the nervous sweat which clung to his swarthy cheeks. His face turned towards this brief hint of a route to freedom, he took a tentative pace forward, one hand still pressed firmly against the reassuring solidity of the passage wall. There was no longer any vestige of breeze, or the elusive yet familiar aroma it carried. Stretching out his other hand in front of him he willed his fingers to make contact with something solid. There was nothing, only empty air. He forced himself to remain calm as he pressed his leather-clad back against the wall, hands flat behind him, and began to sidle nervously up the slight gradient. Eyes straining for the slightest vestige of light, he pressed closely against the wall, his heart pounding in his throat. He had no way of knowing what lay ahead of or around him. For all he knew he could be edging his way along a narrow ledge hundreds of feet above a yawning chasm. His confidence slunk away into the blackness, and cold sweat prickled his cheeks again. At that moment he detected a change in air pressure just as his right hand slipped into empty air. Drawing in a deep shuddering breath, he moved his hand slowly back, a pulse of relief jumping in his throat as once again he made contact with solid rock.

Shuffling his right foot sideways to find reassuring firmness beneath it, he followed the wall round. An awareness of space invaded his heightened senses, and he stopped. Once again air moved briefly across his face, bringing with it the familiar aroma which had teased his nostrils, probably only minutes ago, but to the tense and uncertain Ushak it seemed like hours. Every nerve in his body shrieked danger, but he forced himself to move forward. Time seemed interminable as, inch by inch, he followed the contours of the rock wall. His heart sank into a rising well of despair as he began to realise he was in another cavern. Although it was doubtless much smaller than the massive one from which he had escaped, it was depressingly still a cavern. The Vedran slid his back down the wall, crouching on his haunches to consider his limited options, neither of which filled him with any kind of hope. He could slowly back-track to the main cavern and the retribution of the Jadhra chieftain, or attempt to find an exit and a way through the complexities of the tunnel system up to the surface. A tantalising flicker of light danced across his eyes. Squeezing them tight shut he shook his head, not ready to believe that his mind was beginning to play tricks. Against his closed eyelids the light became brighter, more insistent, turning his vision to a screen of deep blood-red. Cautiously Ushak opened one eye. The other snapped open and he stared, instantly covetous and at the same time weighed down with despair.

He was surrounded by an arsenal of weapons. Letting his gaze travel slowly round the cavern, he felt a lump form in his throat. Every kind of point and blade he had ever heard of or imagined were aligned in cruelly glinting magnificence around the walls. Ushak quickly estimated there were enough weapons stored here to arm over a thousand warriors. Catching shimmering glints from the soft blue light which now illuminated the cavern, polished buckles and burnished studs glinted on hundreds of pieces of body armour lying in a wide semicircle of tidy piles. Recognising the majority as Vedran, even though some obviously belonged to a time long passed, anger and hatred welled up inside Ushak. Then something else caught his eye, and anger and hatred instantly gave way to burning curiosity.

On the floor, a few feet away from the semi-circle of armour, and surrounded by a broad halo of soft white light, sat a deep pace-long chest of polished metal. Ushak’s mouth widened in an avaricious grin as he noticed the strong black handle at each end and the three wide black fastenings which held the lid closed. Anticipating the rewards which would surely be heaped on him by the Grelfine Lord when he returned with this superb artefact, Ushak moved towards it, hands outstretched.

The tones of a voice already indelibly imprinted on his brain echoed softly round the cavern. “Leave it there Ushak.”

Slowly the Vedran slid one hand down to grasp the tenuous reassurance of the bone-handled knife concealed inside his boot.

The voice spoke again, calm but edged with menace. “Choose to come against me now and you will lose…painfully.”

With a long low snarl the Vedran palmed the knife and slowly rose to his feet. A dark amorphous shape briefly swam and rippled at the edge of a slender column of blue light, before coalescing into the recognisable form of the Jadhra chieftain. With eyes as hard and black as obsidian, Miqhal allowed his contemptuous gaze to rest on Ushak. For a long moment the two seasoned warriors studied each other. Both knew beyond doubt it would be a fatal error to under-estimate the other, even as they both knew that any fight would be a fight to the death. Ushak was armed, if only lightly, but Miqhal carried no visible weapon, and in that fact alone lay his strength.

Imperceptibly Ushak adjusted his balance. Relaxing his grip he cradled the knife in his hand, easing the tension in his fingers. Perfectly controlled, he betrayed no reaction as Miqhal took two slow paces towards him and stopped.

Holding out an empty hand palm upwards, Miqhal smiled coldly. “Give up the knife Ushak. It is useless against me.”

The Vedran snarled. “For the sake of honour you must allow me to defend myself in whatever way I can.”

In a single gracefully fluid move Miqhal sank to the floor, the skirt of his long black tunic settling in a moat of dark fabric around his knees. “Defend yourself against what Ushak? There is no honour in striking an unarmed man.”

Black lips drawn back over yellowed teeth, Ushak took a step forward, hefting the knife. His voice was hoarse with loathing. “Then for honour, grant me satisfaction, desert dog.”

In a gracious gesture, the Jadhra chieftain tilted his head. “It shall be as you wish. I would not deprive a brother warrior of his honour.”

Again Ushak snarled, yellow eyes glaring. “I’m no brother of yours, desert dog.”

Sitting back on his heels, Miqhal rested both hands lightly on his knees. “You are mistaken. We are closer to being brothers than you imagine.”

In a heartbeat Ushak’s eyes narrowed and he had sent the knife slicing through the air towards Miqhal. The Jadhra remained motionless, even as the whistling blade turned in mid-air and sped back across the cavern. It hung quivering in mid air, its cold tip a scant inch from the coarse skin of Ushak’s throat. His brutish features a mask of determination and hatred, the Vedran slowly raised his hand.

Clawed fingers closed around the hilt, he attempted to pull the knife aside. “Your magic doesn’t scare me, Jadhra. Vedran magic will prove stronger.”

Miqhal rose to his feet and crossed the cavern to lock eyes with Ushak. “You show much courage Vedran, but neither that nor any magic you may have will save you. I give you two choices, one of which will mean life, the other certain death.”

Ushak’s knuckles showed white around the knife hilt. “All I want from you, Jadhra cur, is the chance to kill you.”

Miqhal’s black eyes glinted as he turned away and crossed the cavern floor, a grim smile curving the corners of his mouth. “A pity indeed, and an unnecessary waste of a good warrior.” The Jadhra chieftain looked back over his shoulder. “You will have your chance.”

The knife fell free in Ushak’s hand. Miqhal’s back was towards him. A flick of the Vedran’s wrist turned the blade. Another flick sent it whistling through the air towards Miqhal’s broad exposed back. The Jadhra chieftain vanished. Its flight unhindered, the knife sped into a nest of viciously curved swords before clattering unbloodied to the floor. Uttering a high-pitched scream of rage, Ushak threw himself across the cavern, snatched up the knife and spun round, blade poised to stab. Wrong-footed through haste, his ankle clipped against a corner of the heavy chest. He reached out to break his fall, teetered sideways and overbalanced. With his knife hand folded under him, he crashed to the floor. A grunt of shock and disbelief escaped his black lips as his dimming eyes watched his own dark blood creep round the bottom edge of the coveted chest.