The Lost Realm (39 page)

Stay back
, he instructed them, sending the command not from his mouth but from his heart. Talking to the animals this way felt natural, as if he'd been doing it all his life.

“There was fighting,” said Greythorn, casting his one good eye about the clearing.

Tarlan stumbled over an abandoned tent. To his dismay the fabric was ripped and stained with blood. Several swords lay half-trodden into the ground. The blade of one was broken clean in two.

What happened here?

Kitheen, who'd landed near the edge of the clearing, opened his black wings and cawed. Tarlan joined him and saw that the thorrod had found a line of freshly dug graves, marked with simple wooden stakes. Beside the graves lay the bodies of three dead men.

Carefully Tarlan turned over the nearest corpse. It wore the familiar green of the Trident army.

“They were attacked,” growled Filos.

Tarlan nodded, appalled. “But by who?”

Something moved in the undergrowth to his right. Before Tarlan could react, a blur of gold shot past his head, and Theeta's talons thrust their way deep into the bushes. They emerged clutching a young boy dressed in the same green that adorned the corpse.

“Please!” screamed the boy. “Don't let it eat me!”

“She won't eat you. Theeta, put him down.”

The thorrod deposited the boy gently before Tarlan. The youngster's face was grimy, and his tunic was torn, but his eyes were wide and full of life. A short sword was stuck into his belt. Its blade was scratched and its edge was notched.

“Please, Your Grace. I only hid 'cos I thought it was them. Please don't hurt me.”

“Nobody's going to hurt you.” It felt strange to be called “Your Grace.” Tarlan wasn't sure he liked it. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I thought you was them,” the boy repeated. “Then I saw you was you.”

“Who do you mean? What happened here?”

“It was them. The Vicerins. They ambushed us. We had no chance. I went up a tree and waited till it was over.”

At the mention of the name Vicerin, Tarlan's whole body had turned cold. “When did this happen?”

“Not long after you left. You and the wizard. Where is he, Your Grace?”

“Never mind that. Where's Trident?”

“That's what I'm trying to say. There were too many of them. It's all over. Trident's finished!”

Distraught, Tarlan stared at Theeta. For the first time ever, he saw tears brimming at the corner of the thorrod's fathomless black eyes.

I never knew thorrods could cry. Oh, Melchior. I wish you were here with me now.

“Elodie,” he said. “What about the princess? Where is she? Is she all right?”

“Oh,
she'll
be all right.”

Something in the boy's tone made Tarlan's skin prickle. “What do you mean?”

“It was her that brought them here. I'm sorry, Your Grace, but your sister, it turns out she's a traitor.”

Anger flashed through Tarlan. “That's not true! You're lying!”

“I wish I was. But I'm not. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Tarlan's head felt ready to burst. “What did you see? Tell me!”

“The princess, she said how she was glad the Vicerins had come. She went riding off with them all high-and-mighty—begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she
did
—and there was poor Fessan all chained up. He'd have died fighting for her, so he would. And what did she do? Betrayed him. Betrayed us all!”

Tarlan wanted to shout at the boy to stop talking. There were too many words, and all of them were hurting him. With hunched and shaking shoulders, he turned his back and walked away.

He's telling the truth. It's there in his eyes.

Had Elodie really betrayed Trident? Tarlan couldn't imagine his sister doing such a thing.

But why would the boy lie?

I'm sorry, Fessan. You didn't want us to leave. If Melchior and I had stayed, would things have turned out differently?

Tarlan imagined Melchior vanquishing the Vicerin attackers with his magic . . . then remembered that until their journey to the Isle of Stars, the wizard had been just an old man who needed a stick to help him walk.

No. If we'd stayed, we'd be dead, or prisoners like Fessan.

He stopped pacing and returned to the boy.

“What's your name?” he demanded.

“Kassan, Your Grace. I . . . I'm sorry it all happened, really I am.”

“So am I, Kassan. But there's nothing we can do about it now.” He shoved his anxiety and confusion aside.
Enough thinking; time to act.
“What's done is done, and we have more important things to be worried about.”

“We do?”

Tarlan eyed Kassan's sword. “Do you know how to use that?”

The boy puffed out his chest. “I surely do, Your Grace! I was the best student in the camp. Leastways, that's what Lieutenant Tagger said.” His face fell. “He's dead now. I buried him, along with the others. There's still more to be done, though.”

“Never mind that. I need every good swordsman I can find.”

“Why? Is there going to be more fighting?”

“Yes, Kassan. Now tell me, do you know if there are any towns nearby?”

“Of course. There's Deep Poynt. It's the biggest town in all of Isur.”

“Are you sure?”

The boy nodded. “I lived there before I joined Trident.”

Tarlan shook his head, unsurprised. There was something inevitable about this whole encounter . . . about all the events of the past few days, in fact. He could almost feel all the many parts of the world moving around him, gradually settling into place like the pieces of some gigantic puzzle.

Crouching, he quickly told Kassan about the advancing Galadronian army.

“Where's Galladonika?” said the boy, frowning.

“Never mind. All you need to know is that the enemy is coming this way, and they'll attack anything lying in their path. From what you've told me, that means Deep Poynt.”

Kassan's frown deepened. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.

“They're going to attack my home?”

“Yes! And you're going to help me defend it. As long as we stand, Kassan, you and me, Trident stands too!”

“You and me.” Kassan looked doubtful. “We can't fight those Galladonikans on our own.”

“We're not on our own.”

Stepping away from the boy, he patted Theeta on the neck and strode out into the center of the clearing. The sun had vanished behind the trees, leaving the forest dark and brooding. Directly above Tarlan's head, the three prophecy stars shone in a purple velvet sky.

Spreading his arms wide, Tarlan called a single command: “Come!”

Even as his voice rang out across the clearing, he drew that word inside himself, where it grew hot and strong.

Come!

They came, the beasts of the forest and the birds of the air. The ground shook beneath hoof and paw, and the sky shrilled with the shriek of hawk and eagle. From one side came the bears, from another the wolves, from another amassed a crowd of boars and deer and low, slinking weasels. The ground to Tarlan's left began to shimmer as it covered itself with a carpet of snakes.

Through the center of the animal throng came the horses.

“So, Kassan,” said Tarlan. “What do you think of our army?”

Kassan was openmouthed. His face was white, except for two spots of color on his cheeks, shining in the twilight.

“Will they eat us?” he quavered as a pair of giant grizzly bears loped past.

“Not us!”

Among the animals was a horse: a fine gray stallion with a thick black tail that Tarlan guessed must have escaped its owner.

Come!

He sent the command like an arrow. The horse reared, whinnied, then trotted up to him. It stamped the ground, snorting, and lowered its head, allowing Tarlan to stroke its nose.

“Can you ride?” Tarlan asked. The boy nodded. “Bareback?”

“My uncle taught me.”

“Good. Every soldier needs a good horse. This one is called . . .” He spoke into the horse's ear: “Tell me your name.”

The horse stamped once and whinnied.

Tarlan turned back to the boy. “Kassan, this is Windracer.”

The boy was gaping. “You can talk to horses?”

“Yes.”

“And he's . . . mine?”

“No, Kassan. Never think it. You and Windracer are equals. Look after him, and he will look after you. Now, can you lead us to Deep Poynt?”

The boy heaved himself onto the horse's back. He ruffled his fingers through Windracer's mane, then grinned at Tarlan.

“Follow me!” he cried, jabbing his heels into Windracer's flanks. They trotted north toward the edge of the clearing.

Follow!
Tarlan sent the thought out to the gathered animals even as he raced back to where Theeta was waiting.
Follow, and soon we will fight!

“Many come,” Theeta remarked as she took them both into the sky.

“Yes, Theeta, just like you said.”

They flew out over the treetops. Tarlan gazed down in awe, reassured to see Kassan riding confidently along a broken trail through the woods. Behind him ran Filos, Greythorn, and Brock, and behind
them
, widening like the head of an arrow behind its point, ran Tarlan's pack.

At last he let his thoughts return to Elodie.

What she'd done was unbelievable. Unforgivable. He wanted to confront her, to tell her how stupid she'd been. To shout it in her face.

Good riddance to her
, he thought bitterly.
I didn't need a sister before. I don't need one now.

But his brother . . .

“I'll save Gulph myself,” he muttered. “And forget Elodie ever existed.”

There was no use dwelling on it any further. Nor was there any point in wondering about the future. This was now, and that was all Tarlan cared about. The twilight air was cold, and the shadowy trees were filled with life. The darkness rumbled.

Battle lay ahead.

I
n the courtyard, Lord Vicerin's loyal guards were dragging away the bodies of the murdered Ritherlee nobles. Others escorted the Helkrags to some deep part of the castle, perhaps to be rewarded for their performance, perhaps to be turned on and slaughtered themselves. Once the courtyard had been cleared, a large crowd was ushered out.

“He's sent men to get you,” Cedric pleaded. “Elodie, they're coming!”

But Elodie needed to hear what the murderer had to say.

“Toronia is changing,” Lord Vicerin said to the crowd. They listened intently, and Elodie wondered how long they had to live. “King Brutan has fallen. The fate of our glorious realm hangs in the balance. A new power is needed, if that balance is ever to be restored.”

“What is he talking about?” sobbed Sylva.

“Please, Elodie,” urged Cedric, tugging at her sleeve.

“Hush, both of you. I want to hear this.”

She didn't want to hear it, of course, but she had no choice. Lord Vicerin might have gathered an audience, but his speech was addressed to one person alone.

Her.

“Here, today, this new power has arisen,” Lord Vicerin went on. “Even as Castle Tor collapses into the darkness, so Castle Vicerin rises into the light. Even as the prophecy stars fail us, a new light illuminates our spirits. For I tell you that today a new king has come.”

A tall man appeared behind Lord Vicerin: the chief chamberlain, resplendent in his blue-and-black robes. In his hands he carried a silver crown. He held it over his lord and master's head.

The watching people stood in utter silence.

The crown came down.

“Kneel before him,” the chamberlain intoned. “Kneel before King Quentus of the House of Vicerin!”

One by one the members of the crowd dropped to their knees. Vicerin waved decorously, then his eyes fixed on Elodie's.

“Now that I am king of Ritherlee,” he cried, “I will take my queen!”

Pressing her hands over her eyes, Elodie screamed . . .

. . . and awoke in her chambers, bathed in perspiration. The nightmare fell away. Outside the window, the fog was gone too, replaced by blue sky laced with delicate clouds. Somewhere, a lark was singing.

She climbed sleepily out of bed, clutching at the collar of her night robe. Her hand slipped down to the green jewel she wore at her neck. As always, she felt comforted by its presence.

Her eyes fell on the dress hanging in the doorway to the adjacent dressing room. The dress was gold, with a long, full skirt that split into dozens of shimmering ribbons. Each of these split again, and again, so that the bottom of the gown was a mass of delicate fronds designed to swirl and froth as the person wearing it walked along.

Not just any person
, Elodie thought, recognizing at once the traditional Ritherlee design.
The bride.