The Lost Castle (8 page)

Adalon woke with the sun in his eyes. Groaning, he held up a hand and peered through his claws.

He had fallen asleep in a room in the Lost Castle. It had taken three flights of stairs to get to it, but there were many storeys above. It had appealed to Adalon because of its high ceilings and two large windows, which opened out onto balconies with fine views of the courtyard and the river beyond the walls.

The room contained little furniture, and this also attracted Adalon. It made him uneasy to think of using a bed where the last dreams were dreamed hundreds of years ago. Instead, he arranged his travel-worn bedroll in a corner.

Simangee stood on one of the balconies. The stonework around her was carved with the likenesses of birds and fish. Behind her lay the valley.

She was singing.

Smiling, Adalon got to his feet. He winced when he realised he'd slept awkwardly on his tail. He stretched for a moment, enjoying his friend's music. It was a mixture of trills and rolls, a happy, rollicking tune that made the day sparkle.

'You're feeling better,' he said.

She stopped singing and turned to him. 'Much.'

Adalon studied her. The dullness had gone from the scales under her eyes. She looked rested and refreshed, full of energy. He stared into her eyes, looking for the shadow that had haunted her. She looked back at him, grinning, eyes bright, except for – no, he was mistaken. Simangee was herself again.

'I see nothing there,' he announced.

'I beg your pardon?' Simangee said. 'Am I nothing? What about this, then?'

She reached out with her claws and nipped him on the hand.

'Tcha!' he said, clicking his tongue. 'What was that for?'

'To show you I'm not nothing.'

Adalon laughed. It was good to have his friend back. 'The evil cloud? You're rid of it?'

Simangee immediately looked more sombre. 'I hope so.' She shuddered. 'It was horrible. I felt as if I was walking in darkness.' She glanced at him. 'It was a creature of the A'ak, you know. A magical servant. They used it to control those who needed controlling.'

'I didn't know what to do. I thought getting you to safety was the best thing.'

Simangee patted him on the shoulder. 'It was. It gave me time to draw on the Way of the Crest. I was able to use the music of the world to counter the cloud's taint.'

The Ways of the other saur were a mystery to Adalon. He knew of them, of course, and always listened respectfully whenever Targesh or Simangee spoke of their beliefs, but they were as foreign to him as another language.

'The music of the world?' he said.

Simangee glanced at Adalon and seemed to weigh up how much to tell him. 'The Way of the Crest is based on the fact that the entire world is one great, musical composition. Everything has its part, everything contributes to the harmony that binds the world together. Part of our duty when we study the Way of the Crest is to try to hear the music of the world, to try to respond to it.' She shook her head. 'I'm still young, still learning. In the past, I've tried my best, but the music of the world has eluded me. Until last night.'

'You heard it?'

'I did. I was concentrating, aware of the taint of the evil cloud within me. I wanted to banish it completely and I knew that the Way of the Crest was my only hope. I remembered its lessons, its music; I studied each melody, watched every note.' Simangee paused, her gaze distant, her face thoughtful. 'Then, for one brief moment, I sensed the music of the world.' She looked at her friend. 'It was majestic, Adalon. Vast, swelling and mighty – but it was almost too much. I took what I could, found the part that helped me most, and then it faded away. I was left with a small fragment, a melody that I used to rid myself of the last trace of the evil cloud.'

Adalon studied his friend. Her face was merry and she snorted.

'Stop looking at me like that, Adalon. I'm perfectly well!'

'Of course.'

At that moment, Targesh clumped into the room. 'Big place.' He stopped and sneezed.

'What have you found?' Adalon asked.

Targesh shrugged. 'Lots of dust.'

'What else?'

'Empty rooms. No food, though.'

'Any sign of the A'ak?' Simangee asked, and a shadow crossed her face.

'Nothing.'

'The A'ak left things behind,' Simangee said slowly, frowning. 'Or so the book says.'

'Helpful things?' Adalon asked.

'Weapons. Magical items.'

'Food?' Targesh asked.

'Not unless it's magical food. And I don't think you'd like what it would do to you.'

Targesh grunted. 'Plenty of greenery out there. That'll do.'

'Look for some berries and nuts,' Simangee said. 'There could be fruit trees somewhere nearby, too.'

Targesh tilted his head. 'Adalon?'

'We're beside a river. I can live on fish.'

'Good,' Targesh said. 'I'll get something for Simangee and me.'

'She and I will explore the castle,' Adalon said, and looked at his friends. 'Thanks to Simangee, we are safe from the Queen's rage.' He put a hand on her shoulder. 'Without your cleverness, we would never have found this place.'

Simangee squirmed and smiled. 'Thank Targesh, too. It was his doing that got you out of the dungeon.'

'Of course.' He turned to Targesh. 'You are our strength, my friend. I thank you.'

Targesh rumbled happily.

'But this is just the start of our journey,' Adalon said. 'Now we must do what we can to stop the Queen's mad plans to conquer Krangor.'

'The three of us against Thraag?' Simangee said.

Adalon shook his head. 'Not against Thraag. Against Tayesha.'

Simangee looked downcast. 'We are so few.'

'We are all we have. We will do what we can and it will be a beginning.'

* * *

The Lost Castle was silent and dim. The air was heavy with the weight of centuries. Adalon felt like an intruder as Simangee and he moved through halls, ballrooms, galleries and chambers of unknown purpose. The castle did not seem to resent their presence; Adalon thought it was distant, aloof, patient. It had survived long after the A'ak had disappeared, and he wondered if it would simply go on forever, occupying this place, outlasting the years.

Adalon admired the cleverness of the builders. They had a way of working with stone and wood so that everything fitted together seamlessly, as if the blocks and beams had simply grown there. He examined joints and was impressed at how they had been made without nails, almost as if the timbers had been encouraged to bind themselves together.

'How long has it been since this place was abandoned?' he asked Simangee as they entered a huge open area. Stone pillars held up a vast, domed ceiling. They were carved in the likeness of tree trunks, with rough bark and patches of moss.

'Long before the seven kingdoms were founded,' Simangee whispered. Dust lay thick on the floor, in places higher than their ankles.

They moved on.

The furniture the A'ak had left behind had survived the years. Many of the wall-hangings and drapes were still bright and colourful. Adalon was intrigued by a particularly intricate tapestry filling one entire wall of a long narrow room.

He gazed at the tapestry and then looked around the room, wondering about its purpose. Rows of seats lined the long walls, leaving an empty aisle in the middle. Light poured through windows high in the walls. The columns supporting the ceiling were sheathed in gold and glittered in the sunlight.

Adalon stood still, admiring the tapestry. It was a scene in this same hall, but the hall was full. Rank on rank of richly dressed nobles, scholars and soldiers were listening to a tall figure. They were a mixture of saur – Long-necked Ones, Toothed Ones, Clawed Ones, Plated Ones and others. The figure standing on the dais was wrapped in cloud and barely an outline could be seen. The image disturbed Adalon in a way that he couldn't quite put his claw on.

'There,' Simangee said, interrupting his thoughts. 'She stood there.'

She was pointing to the dais under the tapestry. On the dais was a simple wooden chair. 'That was her throne.'

'Who?'

'The Queen of the A'ak.'

Together, they walked up the long aisle. When they reached the dais, Adalon studied the wooden chair. 'A simple throne.'

'This hall was where she ruled this kingdom, where the A'ak made their decisions.'

'But where are they? Where did they go?'

'Mysteries,' Simangee said, and she stared at the tapestry. 'We are left with mysteries.'

Room by room, Adalon and Simangee explored. The outside world had not entered the castle, even in rooms where the shutters had been left open, exposing them to the elements. No birds had built nests, no leaves had been blown in. All was quiet and solemn. The dust was the only sign that the castle had not been built yesterday.

Ballrooms and kitchens, studies and workshops, banquet halls and libraries full of books in the indecipherable A'ak script – all looked as if the A'ak had simply stepped out for a while. It put Adalon on edge, and he itched for answers.

What if they decide to come back?
he thought, then chased the thought away as foolish.

Adalon was pleased when he found the armoury near the gatehouse, just inside the walls. The smell of oiled metal and rope reminded him of the hours Targesh and he had spent in the armoury at High Battilon. He took a halberd from a rack. 'There are enough weapons to fit out an army,' he said to Simangee.

'Of course.'

The stone walls were lined with racks full of swords, pikes, partisans, maces and dozens of weapons Adalon did not recognise. Chain mail hung on wooden dummies. Stacks of helmets stood against walls. A door led to a workshop where a cold furnace stood. Adalon could see, in his mind's eye, a blacksmith hammering metal, with youngsters pumping the bellows and quenching red-hot metal.

A large iron cabinet stood against one wall of the armoury, twice as wide as Adalon's armspan. Typical of A'ak design, its dull, black surface was etched with ornamentation – swirls and wreaths, vines and fruit, flowers and branches with leaves. Adalon ran a claw over intertwined stars and vegetation, then shivered and drew back.

'Magic.' He wiped his hands together in distaste.

Simangee came to his side. 'You feel magic, but I can see it.'

'You can see magic?'

'Ever since that cloud touched me, especially when it's strong magic.' She rubbed her eyes. 'It's a haze on a hot day, or oil on water, something like that,' she finished lamely. 'I saw it on the pipe you found. And now this.'

Adalon patted his pocket and felt the pipe still there. 'Is the cabinet's magic evil or good?'

'Magic is neither evil nor good. It is simply a tool, like a hammer or a saw.'

'A hammer can be used for bad purposes, as well as good.'

'Yes.'

Adalon frowned at the magical cabinet. 'I wonder what's inside.'

Simangee laughed. 'We're in an armoury, Adalon. What would you expect to find in a cabinet in an armoury?'

'Weapons. And in a magical cabinet I would expect to find magical arms.' He looked at Simangee. 'How do we open it?'

'It has a keyhole.'

Adalon peered at the slot surrounded by an intricate spiral of leaves and diamonds. 'And where is the key?'

'Somewhere safe, I imagine.'

Targesh appeared in the doorway. 'Found something. Come and see.'

Adalon put a hand on the cabinet and felt the ripple of magic again. Something important was in there, he was sure.

Simangee trotted to Targesh, her eyes bright, her tail swaying. 'Which way?'

Adalon sighed and followed, promising to come back to the mysterious cabinet.

Targesh wouldn't respond to Simangee's excited questions about what he had found. He led them through a large, wood-panelled hall, into a corridor. After lighting a lantern he ushered them along the stone-lined corridor, where each block was carved with geometric patterns that made Adalon's head spin.

'There.' Targesh pointed toward the end of the corridor.

Simangee gave an excited trill through her crest. 'An iron wall! What's it here for?'

Targesh led them closer. 'No,' Adalon said, 'it's not a wall. It's a pair of doors.'

The two doors met in the middle, and on the right-hand side of where they met were seven locks. Each lock was as big as Adalon's head, bright silver against the midnight-black metal of the door itself. The key slots were all different. Adalon scratched his chin with a thumb-claw and tried to imagine what sort of keys would be required to open such locks.

The top lock, above Adalon's head, had a key slot in the shape of an irregular pentagon, ridged and knurled. The others were equally strange: curved, twisted, branching. The bottom one looked like three concentric circles and Adalon couldn't see how it would work.

Simangee stood with her hands on her hips. 'Well, this tells us something.'

'It does?' Targesh said.

'Whatever is inside must be valuable. They wouldn't have gone to all this trouble, otherwise.'

Adalon nodded. 'This could be the main strong-room for the castle.'

Targesh pounded on the metal. It boomed dully. 'Thick.'

'And it has magic about it, too,' Simangee said.

Adalon took half a step backward before he realised what he was doing. Sheepishly, he tried to pretend he was getting a better view of the doors. He stroked his chin. 'Well, we're not going to get in without the keys, are we Sim?'

'Let me think about this.' She smiled a little and turned to face the doors. 'Call it a challenge.'

Adalon settled himself to wait, crossing his arms on his chest. He knew that patience was a good thing to practise, to balance his Clawed One impulsiveness, so he was almost disappointed when Simangee spun around, beaming.

'You have something?' Adalon asked.

'Perhaps. I might have a way to open this thing.' She tapped the door with her tail.

'You know where the keys are?' Targesh asked.

'Not exactly.' She grinned. 'Remember: the A'ak were the masters of deception and cunning. What if they could make the door safe by guile instead of brute strength?' She hummed a little. 'I think the seven locks are just a distraction.'

'How do we open it, then?' Adalon asked.

Simangee was enjoying herself. 'Let's consider another cunning A'ak device: the secret passage across the river.'

'The golden pipe,' Adalon said. 'It summoned the magic.'

Simangee put a claw on her cheek. 'Hmm. Sometimes I think you were meant to find that pipe.' She waved that thought away before Adalon could pursue it. 'We don't have find any magical musical instruments around here, but I wonder if the A'ak did use one here, all those years ago.'

'So we need to find another magical pipe instead of a set of magical keys? I don't see that we're any better off.'

'No?' Simangee said. 'I might be able to use my musical skills and my knowledge of magic, to try to find the sound that will open the door.'

'Good idea,' Targesh said. 'You can do it.'

Simangee waved Adalon and Targesh back from the door. She stood with her palms touching the metal surface and her head turned to one side. 'This way,' she explained, 'I'll be able to hear and feel what's happening.'

Simangee took a deep breath, then lifted her chin and sang.

Adalon had always admired his friend's musical ability. She could turn her hand to any instrument and make tunes to set a party dancing, or she could sing a song of mourning which would leave every eye moist. Her music had the power to move souls.

Adalon listened in awe as Simangee sang to the iron doors, trying to coax them open. She sang wordless tunes that soared and dipped. When the doors quivered, she repeated a particular musical phrase, then again, but when it had no further effect she turned the phrase around, then added to it, then she returned to the original, singing it more slowly, then faster and faster until it was a shrill whine.

Simangee stopped, dropping her arms to her sides and panting. 'I nearly had it,' she said, her face downcast. 'It was as if they
wanted
to open, but I couldn't find the next notes to shift them any further.'

Adalon reached into the pocket of his tunic and took out the golden pipe. 'What if you heard this again? Could it help you?'

Simangee brightened. 'It might. If I could listen to it and feel its magic, it might point the way.'

Adalon looked at the pipe and realised that he was holding it in his claws, as if it were hot. His mouth was dry; he was afraid of it.

I will not let such a thing conquer me
, he thought. He put it to his mouth and blew.

This time, as the pure sound of the pipe echoed from the walls, Adalon felt as if he were freezing to death. His bones ached with cold and his whole body was seized with violent shivering. Iciness wrapped around him, so chill it burned.

He felt Targesh's arm on his shoulders. 'What's wrong?'

Then, a sound rose, pure and clear, and the cold vanished. He shook himself and saw Simangee standing in front of the iron doors, arms spread, head back, eyes closed as she embraced the music. From her throat, and resonating through her crest, came an outpouring, a run of notes that climbed, descended, then – just as it seemed they would go on forever – ended.

The iron doors swung back without a sound.