Crown of Three (30 page)

Then the broad mirror of the mighty Isurian River and, beyond it, a world that was greener still. Thick forest sprawled as far as Tarlan could see: a tangled carpet of intertwined needles and reaching branches.

Somewhere far to the north lay Idilliam and the throne of Toronia. However, Tarlan's eyes were fixed not on the far distance but on the ground.

“Fly lower, Theeta,” he urged, tugging at the neck feathers of his thorrod steed. “Our scouts have got ahead of us again. I don't want to lose them.”

Theeta tucked in her wings and dived toward the forest canopy. The wind blasted against Tarlan's face, blowing his long hair back over his shoulders. He whooped. The wind seemed to be blowing right through him. He was here, now, in the sky, where he belonged. Just Tarlan and his pack.

“There!” he shouted, spying movement along a narrow trail, just visible through a gap in the trees. It was Filos, her blue-and-white-striped pelt unmistakable against the overwhelming green of the forest. As Theeta and Tarlan swooped overhead, the tigron cub lifted her head and roared: a high, excited sound.

The drably colored Graythorn was harder to spot. Instinct told Tarlan the wolf would be following a little way behind Filos. A few moments of searching confirmed his suspicion. When Graythorn saw them, he too looked up, gave a single brief “Yip!” and returned his nose to the ground.

Sighting his two earthbound companions filled Tarlan with fierce pride. It also drove away his elation. He was not here to have fun in the air, and this was no child's adventure.

He was on a mission to find his sister.

The more he thought about Elodie, the more he hated the idea of her trapped inside that awful tower room in Castle Vicerin. Even a closet full of beautiful dresses couldn't disguise the fact that she'd been as much a prisoner as he had.

Where are you now?
he thought.
Just what do these Trident people want with you?

The idea that Elodie was still a captive filled Tarlan with rage.

She and his brother were part of his pack too.

It's time we were all together
, he thought.

Up ahead, Filos roared again. Tarlan spurred Theeta down to meet her. Filos bounded up to them as the giant thorrod landed on the soft bracken covering the floor of the glade.

“Humans have traveled here,” the tigron panted. “Lots of them!”

Sure enough, something had cut a long swathe through the low-lying undergrowth. Tarlan inspected the ground, identifying hoofprints and footprints alike. Wheel ruts carved a long, meandering line through the glade and back into the trees, where the trail widened significantly.

“It looks like an army,” he said. “It must be them!”

Graythorn trotted up, tongue lolling. “We saw ashes,” the wolf said in his guttural way. “Humans made fire. They left things behind. Humans are so messy.”

“These tracks are fresh,” said Tarlan. “Theeta—call back the others. I think we're close.”

Tipping back her head, Theeta opened her beak wide. Her chest convulsed. Both Graythorn and Filos flinched—the wolf in particular looked distressed, his ears flattened against his head—but Tarlan heard nothing. This was the thorrod long-cry, a sound so high-pitched that few animals could hear it. But it traveled for miles, and it carried a single, undeniable message:

Come quick!

They didn't have to wait long. Nasheen and Kitheen—who had been scouting far and wide so as to spread the search pattern—flew in on silent wings. Theeta and Tarlan met them in the air, drawing the whole formation high enough to look out over the forest again.

The trail they'd seen from the ground was unmistakable from the air. Wide enough to be called a road, it cut a broad furrow northward through the trees. Something was moving along it: a long, snaking formation of men and horses, green flags bright against the darker shade of the leaves.

An army.

Trident.

Tarlan felt the excitement bubbling up inside him. After three days of searching, they'd found her!

“Stay here!” he called down to Filos and Graythorn. “Keep out of sight. Theeta, Nasheen, Kitheen—come on!”

“They see,” warned Nasheen as Theeta surged forward.

“We'll circle in behind that row of pines,” said Tarlan. “If we stay low, we can scout the terrain without them seeing us.”

Theeta steered a course behind as much cover as she could find, on occasion flying so low that her wingtips brushed the ground. The other two thorrods followed, their feathers plumped so as to reduce the noise of their flight to nothing. Tarlan held his breath as they drew near, peering through the screen of woven branches that lay between them and the marching army. Where was she?

“Hie!” cried a voice directly ahead. A horn sounded, its piercing blast shocking in the silence of the forest. Two men wearing camouflaged jerkins covered in leaves ran across their path. Seeing the thorrods nearly stopped them in their tracks, but they urged each other on.

The army column came to a halt. Soldiers raced to form a vanguard. Horses spread out in a circle, their riders drawing swords and raising spears in anticipation of attack.

“No use hiding now,” said Tarlan. “Let's see what we're really up against.”

Urging Theeta up and over the screen of trees, Tarlan led the thorrods out into the open air above the army. Having learned from his experience with the elk-hunters of Yalasti, he made sure to keep them high and out of range of arrows. Moments later, he was glad he had: a line of archers emerged from the middle of the column, their longbows drawn and aimed directly at the thorrod flock.

“Many men,” said Theeta. “Many horse.”

Tarlan had to agree. Trident was much bigger than he'd imagined. Apprehension fluttered in his stomach—the thorrods had been instrumental in beating back Lord Vicerin's soldiers from the village, but this . . .

There was a flurry of movement near the front of the column. Armed men on horseback were gathering around a single rider, forming a protective cordon around him.

Or her.

“Go lower, Theeta,” said Tarlan. “I have to see. Nasheen, Kitheen—stay here.”

As the thorrod flew down, Tarlan spread his arms to show he carried no weapon. His mouth went dry as the bowmen tracked their descent.

Just as they drew close enough to see, the mysterious rider's face tilted back, and Tarlan found himself looking into the keen black eyes of a girl about his age.

No
, he thought,
she is
exactly
my age.

Though she wore the same green uniform as the rest of Trident, there was something different about the girl. There was haughtiness about the way she sat in the saddle. Her face glowed with a curious mix of fear and courage. Her red-gold hair—the same shade as Tarlan's—moved in the wind with a life of its own.

“Girl you,” said Theeta. Normally the thorrod's voices were dry and expressionless. In those two simple words, Tarlan heard the sound of wonder.

“Elodie!” he cried. “Elodie! Elodie!”

Her name flew from his lips as if it had been bottled inside him for years. And so it had, but it was more than that: He'd been waiting to shout it his whole life.

They were close enough now to hear the creak of the longbows as the archers prepared to fire.

“I mean you no harm!” Tarlan shouted, not sure if it was entirely true. “All I want is my sister!”

Elodie's mouth dropped open. A young man with a scarred face, riding close beside her, held out his hand to the archers.

“Fast with your bows!” he told them. Then he called up to Tarlan, “Who are you?”

“My name is Tarlan! Elodie is my sister!”

A gasp rose up from the column. Tarlan felt a grim satisfaction that he'd gained their attention without getting shot. But he was painfully aware that at least fifty arrows were pointed straight at Theeta's breast.

“That is quite a claim, young man,” called the rider, who despite his young age looked more like a commander than a regular soldier. “And I will grant you look like her. I am Fessan, leader of Trident, and I am loyal to the young woman you say is your sister. Can you prove what you say is true?”

“It's true.” Tarlan licked his lips. He had no desire to get drawn into a debate. Only action would free his sister and take him one step closer to completing his pack.

“So you say!” cried Elodie, driving her horse out of the line. Her dark eyes were shining. “Can you prove it? Do you have one of these?”

Reaching inside her tunic, she pulled out a sparkling green jewel and held it aloft.

Tarlan's guts contracted into a hard knot. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

It's just like mine!

What more proof did he need that he and this girl were kin?

But it was proof he could not share. His heart sank as he thought of Lord Vicerin, staring up at him as he flew from the castle, boasting that he still had the jewel. No wonder he'd missed it so badly.

“I lost it,” he blurted, all too aware of how desperate he sounded. “But I
am
your brother. You have to believe me.”

“Imposter!”

Tarlan didn't see who shouted, but before he could respond, an arrow whistled over his head. He grabbed Theeta's feathers and yanked her around just in time to avoid three more arrows as they shot past. He roared, a primal, animal sound. These humans pretended they loved words, but all they ever really wanted to do was fight.

“Nasheen!” he yelled skyward. “Kitheen!”

Theeta screeched as he pulled her around, ready to dive on the archers. On the ground, the troops clapped their hands to their ears. Elodie watched in silence, a rapt look on her face.

“Fast!” yelled Fessan, riding down the line of bowmen. “Fast, I said! I will see no bloodshed here today!”

Tarlan tugged on Theeta's feathers, pulling her out of her dive barely a tree's height from the ground. As she hovered, the shadows of the other two thorrods fell over them.

“Wait!” said Tarlan, raising his hand. “Don't attack yet.”

Nasheen and Kitheen fell into formation, one on each side of Theeta. Their great gold wings beat the air with a slow, threatening rhythm. At the sight of them, more weapons rose from the ranks of Trident: swords and spears bristling along its length like the hackles of some threatened beast.

“Let them land!” Fessan bellowed.

Elodie whirled on the column. “And hold fast your weapons!” she shouted. “All of them!”

With obvious reluctance, the archers lowered their bows and returned the arrows to their quivers. Slowly, the entire column relaxed. Tarlan was startled to see the power his sister apparently had over this army.

“Safe now,” said Theeta.

Tarlan had been worrying it was a trick, but the thorrod's certainty gave him hope. Was it worth the risk?

One look at Elodie's eager face told him it was worth everything.

“Down, Theeta,” he said. “Slow and careful. Don't alarm them.”

Leaving their companions circling overhead, they touched down beside Fessan. As Tarlan jumped from Theeta's back, Fessan dismounted. Tarlan stood, his whole body tensed, as the leader of Trident walked a complete circle around him.

“You have her face,” he said in wonder. He opened the collar of Tarlan's tunic. “Your skin is very tanned, except for these lines. Once you wore something around your neck.”

“The jewel, like I said,” said Tarlan. He wanted to sound defiant, but all the anger had drained from him.

“Tell me again who you are.”

Tarlan drew himself up to his full height. “I am Tarlan of Yalasti. I have crossed the Icy Wastes to be here. I am leader of my pack. And I am Elodie's brother.”

“Yes,” said Fessan, “I believe you are.”

He turned slightly, performing the trick of talking both to Tarlan and to the watching crowd.

“We mean your sister no harm,” Fessan announced. “We protect her, just as we will protect you, Tarlan. You are the second of three, and we will not rest until you and Elodie are reunited with your lost brother. We march with the strength of not only weapons but the power of the prophecy. Your arrival has doubled our hope, Tarlan—the hope that we will overthrow the cruel king of Toronia and return this realm to the peace it deserves.”

He paused. Tarlan held his breath, expecting a cheer. Instead, there was an expectant silence.

Fessan spoke again, this time pitching his voice so low that only Tarlan could hear. Just for a moment, the rest of the world faded to transparency.

“Will you join us?” said Fessan.

The young man's expression was so earnest, his gaze so piercing, that Tarlan was transfixed, as if he'd been pierced by one of the bowmen's arrows. He was suddenly aware of the vastness of the forest around him, and of all the rest of the great kingdom beyond that, of the heavens above him and the hidden underworlds below. What were human squabbles over a crown compared to this?

“I don't want—” he began.

“Tarlan!”

Elodie was running toward him, filling his vision, suddenly and undeniably there before him. Her face was streaked with tears. Spreading her arms wide, she pulled him into a tight embrace that went on and on. Her chest heaved against his, hitching in breaths and letting them out in faltering sobs. He allowed his own arms to close around her back, wondering at the force that drew them in, and held her.

Eventually they parted. She gripped his shoulders, holding him at arm's length, staring with wonder into his face. Her eyes shone.

“I didn't want to believe you existed!” She laughed. Her voice sounded familiar. How could that be when they'd never met? “When I first heard about you, I was so angry. . . . Can you imagine? But since then . . .” Her face fell. “A lot has happened, Tarlan. Now that you're here . . . I feel like I've found myself.”