Mary Herbert - Winged Magic

Tassilio knelt on the floor, looking very much alive and very aware of what he was doing. He pulled a knotted piece of rope out of his shirt and jiggled it tauntingly at the Gryphon.

Zukhara recognized it for what it was. His face grew livid. “Sandrat!” hissed Zukhara.

“That’s right!” Tassilio yelled fiercely, sliding another rock into his slingshot. “A bastard, just like you! But now I am Shar-Yon and that is my father, the rightfully ordained ruler of the Turic. You are nothing but a traitor, Zukhara, and I will see you dead!”

The Gryphon raised his hand to strike down the loathsome boy. With surprising strength, the Shar-Ja twisted his body and lashed out with his foot. He caught Zukhara on the back of the knee and knocked the leg out from under the usurper. The Gryphon fell heavily down the stairs. He pushed himself upright, shaken but uninjured, and glared malevolently at the old ruler.

“They’re coming,” a hollow voice intoned close by.

Zukhara spun around and saw Gabria standing upright and staring blankly at the large double doors. From somewhere in the corridors came the sounds of screams and the hard clatter of approaching hooves. He wasted no more time. He dashed to Kelene and lifted her over his shoulder. Gabria was too weakened by the poison to fight him off, and a backhanded blow knocked her to the floor. In a daze she watched him go behind the throne and disappear; then hoofbeats pounded outside the room and the doors crashed open.

A red-haired woman in full battle dress and wearing a red cloak rode in on a black winged Hunnuli. Gabria smiled through her tears. The horse wasn’t white, but Demira was quite good enough.

The remaining priests and Fel Azureth must have thought so, too, for they took one look at the furious sorceress and fled, leaving only Tassilio and the Shar-Ja with the two women. Tassilio ran to his father and used the dagger to cut him free. Demira skidded to a stop on the patterned floor and Helmar slid off.

Her heart in her throat, the chief ran to Gabria’s prostrate form. The older sorceress stared at the stranger as if she were still a vision. Her hand grasped the red cloak. Helmar was shocked by Gabria’s thin body and shadowed face. Blood oozed from a cut on her cheek, and her hands trembled. But anger smoldered deep in Gabria’s jewel-green eyes, and she managed to push herself to a sitting position.

“You,” Gabria gasped. “By Amara’s grace, where did you come from?”

Helmar steadied her and helped her rise to her feet.

“Out of the past, Lady Gabria.”

Kelene! Where is Kelene? Demira neighed. She clattered around the room to look for her rider.

Tassilio guessed what she wanted. “He took her out that way,” he cried and pointed to the hanging blue drapes behind the throne. He hurried around to show her the door and found it closed and locked.

The Shar-Ja leaned his frail weight heavily on the throne and told them, “It leads to the courtyard outside and the path to the temple. He probably had horses waiting to take them up to the pinnacle.”

Tassilio tried to work the lock; Demira tried to kick in the door. But it was wasted effort. The door was solidly barred. Frustrated, the mare took another circuit around the room and saw there were no more doors and the windows were too narrow for her bulky wings. Before anyone could gainsay her, she suddenly turned and cantered out the double doors to find another way to reach Kelene.

“He’s taking her to the citadel,” Gabria said fiercely. “She needs more help than Demira can give her.”

The sounds of fighting had grown nearer since Helmar’s arrival, yet it had not lessened in intensity. The Fel Azureth fought like wolves and still had the slight advantage of numbers and familiarity with the city streets. It could still be a while before Lord Athlone or Sayyed or Rafnir could subdue them enough to come and help, and that might be too late.

“Take me up there,” Gabria pleaded.

Helmar exhaled sharply. “But, Lady, you are too weak. If you tried to use magic—”

“I am too weak to destroy him. Not to distract him.”

More hooves pounded in the hallway, and Tassilio’s dog bounded into the room just ahead of Marron. Barking and wiggling, the dog leaped delightedly on the grinning boy.

“Cal, I told you to stay outside,” the boy laughed.

Well, you did not tell me to stay, Marron huffed to the chief. She was breathing heavily and hot with sweat.

“And glad I am I didn’t,” exclaimed Helmar. “We must still try to free Kelene.”

“A white Hunnuli,” Gabria breathed. She held her hands out to the mare and let Marron sniff her hands and face.

Helmar snapped her fingers. “Nara! We need her. Is she still alive?”

“Zukhara may be many things,” replied the Shar-Ja dryly, “but he is not wasteful of things that are valuable to him. I heard he has the black Hunnuli under guard in the palace stables.”

Marron stamped a hoof. I will get her. I saw the stables on my way up here .

“Pity the guards who stand in the way of that horse,” the Shar-Ja said in wonder as he watched her go.

Tassilio ran out then and came back with a pitcher of water. “It was all I could find,” he said, offering some to the women and his father.

The Shar-Ja took a sip of the proffered drink and smiled at his son. “By the Living God, where have you been? Zukhara told me you were dead, too.”

Tassilio blushed at the warmth in his father’s voice, and for once the voluble boy was tongue-tied. He grinned and shifted from foot to foot. “I was helping my friends,” was all he could say.

The Hunnuli mares came back, sooner than the women expected. The guards were gone, Marron explained. The palace is almost empty. Everyone has either left to fight or to hide .

Nara said nothing but pushed close to Gabria, sniffing her all over and whickering her joy and relief. Whatever sedative Zukhara had given her had worn off, and she looked thin but fit. Gabria threw her arms around her mare’s neck, burying her face in the black mane. With Helmar’s help, she climbed onto Nara’s broad back.

“When Sayyed and the others reach here, tell them where we went,” Helmar told Tassilio.

The boy nodded fiercely. “Take the first left hallway, go to the end, and turn right. There are doors there that lead outside.”

A quick salute and the sorceresses were gone, their Hunnuli’s hooves echoing away down the corridors. Tassilio softly closed and locked the doors behind them and returned to wait with his father.

Helmar led the way along the opulent hallways. She noticed Marron was right—the palace seemed deserted. No one tried to stop them as they trotted the horses through the corridors.

Tassilio’s directions proved accurate, and the women found themselves out in the bright sunlight on a broad, grassy esplanade. In front of them the towering bastion of stone soared high into the blue sky. On its top, like a red and green crown, sat the temple of the prophet Sargun.

Built originally as a citadel, the redstone buildings had been consecrated as a monastery and a temple a few generations after the death of the holy prophet. It housed a magnificent library, gardens, the royal crypt for the Turic shar-jas and a population of perhaps one hundred contemplative monks and active priests. It was used by the Turics only in times of the most sacred rites. A narrow road rimmed by a stone fence zigzagged its way up the steep face to the top. There was no sign of Zukhara or Kelene anywhere, and nothing moved in the sky but a few wisps of clouds.

Marron and Nara hurried off the esplanade and found the beginning of the temple road at the end of a long courtyard. Together they trotted up the steep way.