Mantle: The Return of the Sha (27 page)

Lizabet smiled at him and said, “It would seem so, Pike…but a
good
witch, a
blue witch
.”

Pike seemed relaxed by her answer—at least somewhat. Dorian, however, had been hurt and she knew it. It would take time to mend his feelings. That was what it really was, after all—his feelings had been hurt.

“Dorian, I am truly sorry that I did not tell you. I promise you that I will not keep something like that from you again. We will be honest with each other from here out.”

“Fine,” he said. “I will hold you to that, and your apology is accepted.”

It was her smile that had softened him.

****

When King Zander was informed by Grey Eagle that Lizabet and Dorian had snuck away from Bannister Castle and Obengaard, he was furious. But more, he was concerned for their safety. He thought surely they would not venture into the Hidden Forest, but messengers had been sent back to Obengaard along the route that they had taken and their tracks confirmed that they had.

How can I have lost them both?

He had felt some relief that the boy, Dorian Bellows, seemed to have run away with her. He was at least somewhat older, and it was always better not to travel alone, no matter where you happened to be going.

He had immediately ordered scouts to search for signs of them along the edges of the road leading back to Obengaard, but he didn’t see any way of helping them if they had taken the route through the Hidden. It was too dangerous for scouts to go in that direction, and the odds were not in favor of them being found. He could not afford the loss of his men for a search that would be likened to finding a particular pebble on the beaches of Bore. So he did the only thing he knew that he could—he made a request to the Eagles to keep watch for them. But even that would likely not help, since the Hidden Forest would block all sight of them from above.

He had done what he could for now, so he redirected his attention back to his own journey. They were nearing the Outlands now, and the heat of the air was wreaking havoc on his men. They had just passed through the Durbin Valley and now rested along the Green Lake, so he had taken the unusual step of instructing his generals to give the men an hour to cool themselves in the lake. It had improved morale immediately, but that was only temporary. Soon the heat would attack and the energy would be drained from them once again.

General Brask had been summoned to the king’s tent, and when he arrived, he found Zander standing over a map that covered a large table.

The map itself was very old and, as Zander contemplated his strategy, a thought kept making its way into his mind,
how many wars have been won or lost by direction of this map?

“You wanted to see me, Majesty?” Brask said as he entered the tent.

After a moment of silence, Zander finally replied, “Yes, General, I would like to discuss the weather.”

General Brask smiled and breathed a chuckle.

“I’m sorry to report that I have very little power over the
weather
, Majesty,” he said. He was still smiling, but the king remained serious.

“Yes, I understand that, General,” he replied. “However, I would like for us to begin traveling only by the dark of night from here out. What do you say of this arrangement?”

General Brask’s eyebrows raised in surprise. It was unheard of to travel at night
anywhere
in Mantle, if it could be helped.

“Sir, I believe that we might have success with travel at night, were it not for our numbers,” Brask said. “If something were to happen along the road, it would be very difficult to instruct fifty thousand men in the darkness of night.”

Zander had considered this and decided that the risk of finding trouble on the road was worth the survival and readiness of his men. But the general’s concerns were valid. The sounds that they heard coming from the outer edges of their camps, seemed hostile and sometimes aggressive. But more disturbing, the sounds coming from the forest surrounding them seemed
unnatural
.

He had thought to himself on several nights,
it can’t be the Skites
—
not yet. And surely the Locks have not come this deep into Forie lands.

“General, I would like for you to organize a series of coded instructions that can be handed down to the men by way of beacon.”

General Brask understood at once. They would use torches to send signals along the lines of men, with other signals to be lit along the way until they had reached the last of them. Two torches might mean forward, three would indicate for them to stop, and four would signal an attack. Others might be used as well, but they would keep it as simple as possible.

“I understand, Majesty. When would you change the routine?”

“Tell your men that we will remain here until the sun sets or the weather cools,” the king said. “We will still be at risk for what might be lurking under cover of dark, but I would prefer a fight against a physical enemy, over a battle with the Father of Nature on any day.”

“Do you believe that the warmth of these lands are the doing of nature, Majesty?” Brask asked in an attempt to make a point.

“No, I suppose not,” Zander replied, “but it is equally out of our control, no matter the cause.”

“Very well, I will make the orders. Will that be all?”

Zander stood quiet for a moment, and then said, “The queen’s sister is traveling with the Bellows boy, presumably to the Outlands.”

“Yes, Majesty, I’ve been told.”

“I’ve been stripped of one of them, General, and I will not have her sister taken from me, as well.”

It sounded to General Brask as though the king was simply leaving his thoughts unguarded.

“Majesty, we will win, and both will be safe. You will make sure of it.”

“Yes, we will win—of that, I am sure. Of anything else…” Zander stopped short. “Thank you, General, that will be all.”

Of anything else…I am lost.

****

If the encounter with the butterflies had taught them anything (other than Lizabet’s newfound fame), it was a lesson in caution. The horses would eventually return to them, they knew. After all, the horses themselves had agreed to the trip beforehand. They would not abandon them so quickly.

They moved more carefully now, inspecting everything around them, watching where they would step, and they kept their silence as much as they could. It was Lizabet who had first noticed Pike’s inability to walk quietly, but it was Dorian who had found a solution.

It was his feet, Dorian realized. Pike had extremely large feet, as any eight-foot tall Loper would, and the moccasins that he wore were thin. Every time Pike would flex the muscles in his feet, it would break the foliage under him, even when standing motionless. Dorian’s solution was simple. He removed a shirt from his roll, tore it in two, and wrapped pieces around each of Pike’s feet. And whether it was his intuition, or simple luck, it was good that his solution came about when it did.

As they made their way, during what they thought to be morning, they stopped briefly so that they could determine their route through the trees. Pike could see only a short distance before his view was overcome with the trunks of the trees, but it saved them time in the long term. They had learned from experience that taking the wrong path could require backtracking and losing time.

Now Pike stood on top of a protruding tree root and gazed out into the distance. At first, he only looked out through the trees, calculating the best route. But he suddenly jumped down from the root and crouched down to Dorian’s ear.

“
Things
, Mr. Dorian!” he whispered into Dorian’s ear.

“What?”

“Bad looking creatures—walking
toward
us,” he said frantically, trying desperately not to raise his voice above a whisper.

Dorian was stunned, because Pike was only to look for routes and had now stepped down with a potential enemy coming at them. He was pulled from his shock when he could hear sounds in the distance. Lizabet immediately looked Dorian in the eye before quickly stepping against the tree behind her.

Dorian grabbed Pike’s hand, leading him,
pulling
him, to the tree closest to them.

“From what direction?” he whispered to Pike.

Pike pointed in the direction that the creatures were coming from, and Dorian motioned the same for Lizabet to be sure that she understood. She did, and adjusted her position against the tree so as not to be seen.

She could hear them coming, the footsteps were becoming louder, and when she thought that they would be close enough to be seen, she carefully peeked from around the edge of the tree trunk.

She wondered again why she was not frightened, like she would expect. The situation could not be more precarious, yet she still wasn’t shaken by any of it. She likened the feeling to that of being anxious or excited.

****

There were three of them, walking closely together—they were
Locks
, mutants of the Skite Kingdom, who had survived the last Mantle War. Lizabet had been told some of the story of the Locks, but she wasn’t sure how much of it to believe. Most of the stories she had heard had either been designed to frighten children into doing their chores, or had been created by the children themselves.

She had known what they looked like, at least. A boy that she sometimes tutored with had shown her a drawing of a Lock that he had taken from one of his father’s books. It was meant to frighten her, she knew, but of course that hadn’t worked—not with her.

The drawing had been rough and had no color to it. Being very old, she imagined that it had been drawn from descriptions that had been handed down through the generations. But now she saw the Locks clearly as they really were. They were tall with protruding and muscular chests. And unlike the single horn protruding from the back of a Skite’s head, the Locks had six horns of varying sizes (
but all large
), protruding in a crooked line down their backs.

It wasn’t these things that Lizabet found the most disturbing about them, though—it was their
skin
. It appeared dry and flaky in some places and moist in others. The color of it was ominous, almost mesmerizing, and when it combined with the shadows cast by the muscles of the monsters’ arms, it immediately reminded Lizabet of dark storm clouds.

Although the sketch that she had seen in the boy’s book had depicted them in helmets and armor, these three wore none. Instead, they wore tattered clothes, and their heads were bald and of the same disturbing dark blue-gray color as the rest of their bodies.

Lizabet had noticed something else that could not be depicted in the drawing. The skin over their heads seemed to be
thinner
. Even in the few seconds that she had looked at them, she could clearly see
through
the skin on their heads, exposing the pulsing black veins beneath. This
thinness
continued down to their eyes. The eyes, Lizabet thought, were the most evil features of the beasts. They were large, but contained no pupil or white. Instead, they looked like large puddles of dark swirling liquid seemingly held in place by some invisible force.

Once the shock of them left her, she stood hidden against the tree, contemplating what might unfold. The Locks were wearing swords and walking with spears, so Lizabet knew that their best chance at surviving the encounter would be to avoid them altogether. She turned to Dorian and said
‘Locks’
with her lips only, not making a sound. She then put her finger to her lips to call for silence. Dorian nodded in agreement and put his hand in Pike’s to provide comfort. He didn’t need Pike crunching twigs beneath his overgrown feet—not now.

****

It would not be Pike’s feet that would give them away—not that day, at least. It was the returning horses that alerted the Locks of their presence in the forest. Since the horses were unfortunately returning from a direction that would place Dorian, Lizabet, and Pike between the horses and the Locks, Lizabet quickly realized that a confrontation was inevitable.

She raised her sword forward before her and Dorian shot her a look of understanding. Pike, for his part, saw a large boulder at his feet, and would use it as a weapon if necessary. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but his blood was warm now and he felt the anxiety fall away. The situation was inevitable, and this fact seemed only to give him strength and determination.

They didn’t need to look to know they were coming. They could hear them walking in the direction of the horses, which would lead the Locks directly to where they were now hiding. Lizabet summoned all of her courage, which wasn’t as difficult as she would have expected. The sword felt natural in her hands now, as though she were born to use it, and she noticed that it seemed longer and sharper. She was sure that the sword was bigger now.

There was no time to consider the size of her sword any further, however. When she was certain that the first Lock had come to the tree where she stood, she jumped from behind it, already releasing the swing of her sword as she went. She could only hope that her swing was true.