The Lost Realm (8 page)

Gulph grew steadily more tired. Behind him, Jessamyn was asleep on Hetty's back. Marcus and Slater continued to argue and he filtered out their voices, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

Something groaned overhead. Ossilius lifted his hand sharply, and the straggling column stopped.

“What is it?” said Gulph.

“Something I feared,” Ossilius answered, pointing to the wall.

Gulph saw more cracks, each one wide enough for him to plunge his fist into. “What's causing it?”

“The mausoleum,” said Marcus. “Am I right, sir?”

Ossilius nodded. “I fear so.”

“I don't understand,” said Hetty.

“It happened when they executed the witch, or the wizard, or whatever she was,” Marcus said.

“Limmoni,” Gulph put in. “Her name was Limmoni.”

“As you say.” Ossilius gazed into the darkness ahead. “When she died, there was great magic. It tore down the mausoleum. It made the earth shake. Part of the city wall came down too. The magic must have gone deep underground. All the way down here.”

Jessamyn, who'd woken up, began to whimper. Hetty pulled the little girl into a motherly embrace, but couldn't disguise her own fear. “We'll be trapped,” she whispered. “Or worse.”

“Crushed,” said Slater with a curious kind of relish.

“We're safe enough,” said Gulph quickly. He didn't like the look of defeat that had overtaken Ossilius's face. Someone had to keep them moving. “There's food ahead. Come on!”

The tunnel underwent a series of twists and turns. Beneath their feet, the ground grew steadily more uneven. Had it been made like this, or was it the result of the earthquake? Gulph couldn't tell.

Rounding a corner, he came face-to-face with an enormous pile of earth and rubble: a cave-in, blocking the tunnel almost completely.

“That's that, then,” said Slater. “I knew we shouldn't have come down here.”

But Gulph shook his head. “A few rocks won't stop us,” he said brightly. “Hetty, can I borrow your apron, please?”

They all watched curiously as the baker slipped off the garment and Gulph wrapped the crown in it and slung it over his shoulder: a makeshift pouch was safer than leaving it on his belt.

“Easier with both hands free,” he explained, waggling his fingers and flashing what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

Dropping to all fours, Gulph scuttled up the side of the rockfall, testing its solidity as he found the best route to the top. There was a small gap near the ceiling. Working quickly, he cleared it of stones, making a gap through which they would all be able to squeeze.

“One at a time,” he called. “It's all right—trust me.”

Marcus came first, shedding his pack and shoving it ahead of him as he climbed. He followed Gulph's route precisely. At the summit, Gulph helped him through and down the other side.

Next came Hetty. The baker was a big woman, and clearly found the climb hard, but Gulph thought he'd never seen anyone look more determined. Then Jessamyn made the ascent. Her tears forgotten, the little girl actually looked as if she was enjoying herself.

There was a brief pause as Ossilius and Slater eyed each other. There was some kind of challenge going on, Gulph guessed, with neither one wanting to turn his back on the other. At last Slater began to climb.

“Thank you,
Highness
,” Slater said as he slithered through the gap, somehow making the royal address sound like an insult.

“Well done, my king,” said Ossilius, who was following close behind. He took Gulph's hand and squeezed it. “Today you descend, Gulph. Tomorrow you will rise.”

A lump formed in Gulph's throat.

“I . . .” he began, then gave a shout. “Look there!”

At the end of the tunnel was a stone archway. The light from Gulph's torch flickered over the carving in the wall above: the circular crest of the King's Legion.

“The central store!” cried Ossilius.

They ran toward it.

The archway led into a round chamber. Brass lamps hung from the low ceiling, which was perforated with a number of small, circular holes. Just as in the storeroom, the walls were lined with shelves and niches. On the far side was a neat stack of crates and barrels.

“Food!” Slater elbowed his way past Gulph. “At last!” He headed straight for the nearest crate and pried open the lid to reveal a mound of what looked like dried and salted meat. Scooping up a handful, he filled his mouth and chewed methodically. “Tastes like crud,” he said. “But if it's all we've got . . .”

Gulph helped Hetty to open more of the storage containers, revealing pots of preserved fruit and kegs of what smelled like apple juice. Jessamyn found metal plates, which she arranged proudly on the floor, and Gulph and Hetty served out the food.

Meanwhile, Ossilius and Marcus had found straw and oil in one of the wall niches, and were using it to fuel the hanging lamps. This done, Marcus touched his torch to each lamp in turn. Soon the chamber was ablaze with light and heat. Gulph watched, fascinated, as the smoke from the lamps coiled its way into the holes in the ceiling, to be carried away by whatever artful ventilation system had been installed here, deep in the bowels of the earth.

“How far beneath the city are we, do you think?” he asked as the two soldiers joined the little circle. He handed Ossilius a plate, then tucked into his own food. The fruit was chewy and the juice was both weak and bitter. But his stomach received both with gratitude.

“We are as far down as Idilliam is high,” Ossilius replied.

“That's a long way,” said Marcus. “Here, Slater, pass us some of that meat.”

“Get it yourself,” Slater replied, hugging the crate to his chest. “If you dare.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Marcus stood, his hand hovering over his sword. Ossilius took his wrist, but the younger soldier shook him off.

Gulph and Ossilius exchanged a glance.

“It means the meat is mine,” said Slater, getting to his feet.

Marcus took a step toward him. “We're all hungry, Slater. There's no telling how long we'll be down here. We need to work together.”

“Get back, soldier boy, or I'll work you
over
!”

“I'm sick of arguing with you. Now give it up.”

“Enough of this bickering,” ordered Ossilius, now on his feet too. “Share the food, Slater. Now.”

But Slater took a step backward, glowering. Marcus reached for the crate and Slater shoved him away, then stumbled into one of the kegs.

Marcus drew his sword; the keen blade flashed in the lamplight.

“Wait!” shouted Gulph. He leaped in front of Marcus, his hands raised. The last thing they needed was for a fight to break out.

“Out of my way!” said Marcus. He seemed to check himself. “Er, sire.”

“Put down your sword!” Gulph put all his heart into making his voice sound stern. What came out sounded more like a squeak. Nevertheless, Marcus obeyed.

“We have to stick together,” Gulph went on. “Whatever happens, we have to—”

The ground began to shake. The plates rattled, spinning like gigantic coins and spilling food across the suddenly vibrating floor. Tiny stones broke loose from the walls and ceiling, dropping like hail all around them.

“What's happening?” wailed Jessamyn.

“Cave-in!” snapped Ossilius. “Everyone—against that wall!”

He herded the group toward the only wall that wasn't in motion. Gulph tottered as he ran, finding it hard to keep his balance on the floor's undulating surface.

Far down the tunnel through which they'd entered, something roared like a caged dragon. Just visible in the pinched distance, a cloud of dust billowed toward the chamber, carried on an icy wind.

“Out! Out! Out!” shouted Ossilius, urging them into one of the smaller passages leading from the food store. Marcus led the way, with Gulph and Hetty hustling Jessamyn between them. “Slater! Come on!”

To Gulph's amazement, Slater was crawling across the shaking floor toward the approaching dust cloud, chasing the crate of meat he'd dropped.

“Leave it!” yelled Gulph. “There's no time!”

Now the falling stones had become rocks. Not hail but an avalanche. Gulph clamped his hands to his ears as the dragon's roar multiplied a hundred times over, echoing through the disintegrating chamber. Dust exploded against his face, blinding him and choking his mouth with powder.

Flailing wildly, he blundered into the wall, then staggered back into somebody's arms. He clawed the dust from his eyes and saw Hetty staring back at him, mouthing words he couldn't hear. Jessamyn was clinging to her legs, her mouth drawn down in terror.

A shadowy figure rose up in the middle of the dust cloud. It was Slater, incredibly still carrying his crate of meat. He held the prize above his head in triumph and began to stumble toward where Gulph and the others were cowering in shock.

He was halfway across the chamber when the ceiling collapsed completely.

More dust. More rocks. Gulph cringed. The noise was beyond his power to comprehend, let alone hear. The entire world seemed to have tipped on its side. His teeth rattled in his skull. His head felt ready to burst.

Gradually the earthquake subsided. Silence fell; it was somehow worse than the uproar. Pebbles rattled down from the gigantic hole that had opened up where the ceiling had once been. The dust slowly settled.

The chamber was a ruin. The floor was canted steeply to one side and covered with fallen boulders. Slater's arm protruded from beneath one enormous rock.

Crushed!
he thought in horror.
Even he didn't deserve to die like that.

With an effort, he tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight. He tried to speak, but a fit of choking closed his throat. He coughed out a spray of white powder, then tried again. “Is everybody all right?”

Voices came to him through the lingering dust. Hetty and Jessamyn, Ossilius and Marcus. So they were all still alive.

Everyone except Slater.

One at a time they stepped out into the rubble. From far down the passage came a distant rumble, then all was quiet again.

“I think . . .” Ossilius began.

The floor lurched. A crack opened up in the wall against which they'd been sheltering. It raced down and across the floor, right between Gulph's feet.

The crack widened, becoming a gaping hole, then a chasm. For an instant, Gulph seemed to be hanging impossibly in the air. His companions were suspended beside him, each of them reaching frantically for something to hold on to.

But there was nothing.

Wind rushed past Gulph's face as he cartwheeled down into the blackness.

W
hat are you doing?” said Samial uncertainly.

“What I should have done sooner,” said Elodie, lifting the knife.

She adjusted the shield she'd propped in the corner of the tent, tilting it slightly so that her face was reflected in the polished inner surface.

Taking her hair in her other hand, she began methodically to cut it off.

Samial watched in silence as Elodie's long, red-gold locks fell to the ground.

“If you had told me a few weeks ago that I'd be doing this,” said Elodie, “I'd have been horrified. But not now. Part of my hair was sliced off in the battle. I'm just evening it up.”

“You are doing a lot more than that.”

When she'd finished, Elodie put down the knife and appraised her reflection. Her hair was little more than a scruffy cap on her head.
Urchin hair
, she thought. “It's like there was another me all along, hidden underneath the first me. A secret me. And now I've set her free.”

“You are still you,” Samial replied.

But Elodie wondered.

“Come on,” she said. “It's past noon. We're late already.”

“Why do you like me to attend council? I am a ghost. Nobody else knows I am there.”

“That's exactly why you're useful, Samial. You can hear the things I miss.”

Samial grinned. “It is good to be useful again. Sir Jaken always used to say that a good servant was a better treasure than gold.”

“You're not my servant, Samial. You're my friend.”

Leaving the tent, they crossed the clearing to the flat patch of ground where Fessan's big tent had been pitched. He welcomed her into the circle of people gathered in the open space, then made his way around the others gathered there, clasping hands with some, clapping the shoulders of others. Elodie noted the respect in people's eyes as their commander moved among them.

He's more than a leader to them
, she thought.
He keeps them going.

She took her seat, Samial standing beside her. Although she was glad of his presence, she found herself suddenly missing Tarlan. Her brother had been gone only a day, yet his absence seemed to hang over her. She stroked the green jewel at her throat. Even though she knew Tarlan had lost his to Lord Vicerin, the touch of the cold stone seemed to bring him a little closer.