The Lost Realm (9 page)

“We are Trident,” said Fessan, taking up his place at the center of the circle, “and we have survived!”

The audience, which up to that moment had been a sea of distracted murmurs, fell silent.

“We are safe here, for now at least—our enemies do not know where we are. Yet we are vulnerable even so, for two reasons. We have wounded, very many of them. And our numbers are badly depleted. The problem of the wounded will be solved by time, as injuries heal and spirits mend. For once, time is a luxury we can afford.

“As for our numbers, on this we must take action at once. New recruits will not come to us; we must go to them. There is a town nearby—Deep Poynt . . .”

“We passed through the place last year,” put in Ghast, one of Fessan's lieutenants. “The people there have no love for our cause.”

“Nor are they against us. They are simply afraid to show allegiance to anyone. If we give them a reason to join us—show them a figurehead—I believe they will rally.”

All eyes turned to Elodie. Their combined gaze struck her like a blast of wind, leaving her momentarily breathless.

“If it's support you want,” interrupted a voice from the edge of the clearing, “you're looking at your first recruit.”

A man in a brown cloak emerged from the trees. He tossed his thick gray hair out of his eyes and began swaggering toward them.

“Stown!” Elodie cried. She leaped up, drawing her sword.

Fessan was already holding his sword too, as were Ghast and the other lieutenants. When Stown was halfway across the clearing, Fessan called:

“Far enough, Stown! You have no business here.”

“Now, that's where we disagree.”

“You made it clear that you would only be content if you led Trident yourself. That's why I sent you away. Your exile is permanent. There is no way back for you.”

“Exile.” Stown rolled the word as if tasting it. “It's such a
royal
word. Something kings and queens command. What do you think, Elodie?”

Elodie felt her cheeks flushing. Seeing this man brought back her troubled early days with Trident: being jeered at on the road to Idilliam, the endless arguing, her friend Palenie's murder by an assassin who mistook her for Elodie . . .

And lurking in the background, always sneering, had been Stown.

“I think you should have stayed in exile,” she said coldly.

“Seize him!” Fessan barked. Ghast and two others raced toward Stown, who immediately raised his hands in surrender.

“No need to do that,” said Stown. “I'm a different man now, with very different friends. Soldier friends. All the soldiers you need, in fact. Want to meet them?”

He brought one hand down sharply. Behind him, men burst from the trees. Elodie recoiled in horror. There were hundreds of them, their faces masked by gleaming steel helms, their swords shining in the midday sun. Their armor shone too, flashing bright beneath their flowing cloaks. Their blue cloaks.

“Vicerins!” Elodie hissed.

Stown threw off his own cloak. Underneath, he wore blue too.

Samial grabbed her arm. “Elodie, you must hide!”

But Elodie shrugged him off. Her grip tightened on her sword. “I'm not going anywhere.”

The circle of people broke apart. All around her, Trident was in motion as green-clad soldiers grabbed swords and bows from the racks where they'd stored them. Tired as they were, Fessan's men were still fearsome warriors. Yet Elodie knew that the Vicerin forces had the advantage of surprise.

In the confusion, Stown had broken free from the Trident men and drawn his own weapon. He parried with a Trident soldier, sending him to the ground, then bellowed, “You stole something from Lord Vicerin! Now he wants it back!”

Suddenly Elodie knew why they'd come.

Me! He means me!

“Get behind!” roared Fessan, dashing in front of Elodie as a pair of blue-cloaked Vicerins sprinted toward her. He stabbed his sword at the first, struck at the second.

“I can fight!” she snarled, drawing her own weapon. “Let me fight!”

“Take her to safety!” Fessan cried.

Before Elodie could protest, Ghast was hustling her inside a protective ring of Trident troops.

The clearing filled with the tumultuous sounds of battle: sword on shield, blade on flesh, grunts and shouts and the strangled cries of the dying. The Trident army fought as bravely as they had on the bridge, but Elodie could see that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Even as they cut down the Vicerin attackers, more of the enemy flooded out of the trees.

“I can fight!” Elodie cried again, but Ghast seized her arm and bore her away from the battle. Two members of the escort stayed behind to fight off an onrushing band of Vicerins, and as the swords of the men clashed, Elodie glimpsed a pair of rocks rising as if by magic from the ground. They floated briefly in the air, then smashed into the skulls of the enemy soldiers, who fell senseless.

Samial!

Before she could see more, Ghast was pulling her through the camp and past a hospital tent, where a row of wounded Trident men were struggling to lift themselves off their stretchers. A group of Vicerin soldiers was bearing down on them. Two nurses stood in their way, hands raised. When the attackers reached them, they cut the nurses down, then worked their way along the line of the injured, stabbing each man where he lay. Blood spread rapidly from one stretcher to the next, turning the white canvas to red. “Butchers!” she screamed. She pushed against Ghast's arm and felt it give way.

“Queen Elodie! No!” cried Ghast as she fought her way to freedom.

“I'm not a queen yet!” she shouted over her shoulder. “If I were, I'd be protecting my people!”

The metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils. All around, Trident soldiers lay dead or dying.

They'll all be killed
, she thought.
Unless I give the Vicerins what they want . . .

She raced to a nearby wagon and clambered up to the driving board. Standing tall, she took a deep breath and yelled, “I AM HERE!”

Around her the chaotic fighting continued unabated. But as she scanned the clearing, she saw two faces turn up toward her: Fessan and Stown.

“Elodie!” Fessan roared. “No!”

He ran toward her. Almost immediately a sea of blue cloaks swallowed him up. Elodie strained forward, her heart in her mouth. An instant later Fessan broke free, blood spraying from the tip of his sword. Behind him three Vicerin soldiers dropped to the ground.

“Stop him, you idiots!” yelled Stown. Yet more blue cloaks appeared, making a wall in front of Fessan, and this time he was swallowed entirely.

Stown strode toward the wagon, gathering even more Vicerin troops in his wake. Elodie watched in terror as they surrounded her.

“Stop fighting!” she yelled. “I'm here!”

Her cry was heeded. Across the battlefield the sounds of clashing steel died slowly away. The forces of Trident and Vicerin alike lowered their weapons and gazed at her.

Elodie had opened her mouth to speak again when the wall of blue cloaks parted and Fessan was thrust toward the wagon. His face was bloodied and his hands had been bound behind his back. He was shoved down the line of Vicerins, all of whom were jeering. When he reached the end, two of the enemy seized him, while a third held a knife to his throat.

Meanwhile, Stown had reached the wagon. He grinned up at Elodie, revealing a jagged row of decaying brown teeth.

“So, you've decided to surrender after all?” he said.

“Elodie!” shouted Fessan. “Don't do it!”

Beads of blood trailed from the knife and ran down his neck.

Stop struggling
, she willed him.
Stop struggling, or they'll kill you!

But she knew Fessan would never stop. There was only one way to save him, to make him give up the fight for her.

I'm so sorry
, she thought.
Please forgive me.

Then she squared her shoulders and summoned all her old haughtiness.

“I will do what suits me,” she told Fessan. “I am glad someone has finally come to save me from you and the rest of these cutthroats!”

Fessan stopped struggling and blinked in surprise.

“Elodie!” he cried. “What are you doing?”

“What I had always planned to do.” Elodie's heart broke a little as she heard the coldness in her own voice, still more when she saw Fessan flinch before her words.

“I don't believe it! I don't believe
you
!” She felt sick to her stomach. But for her plan to work, Fessan had to be convinced. An idea came to her.

“Why do you think I buried that standard? To leave Trident undefended.”

When he heard this, Fessan's face finally crumpled. His chin sank to his chest.

“You called them ‘cutthroats,' ” said Stown slowly.

“Of course.” Elodie turned to face him. “Do you think I like being here? Ever since they kidnapped me, I've been dreaming of rescue.”

“Really? I always thought . . .”

“Oh, I've played along. What choice did I have? I thought they'd kill me otherwise. But I knew my father would send someone eventually. It's just a shame it had to be you.”

Elodie held her breath. Insulting Stown might anger him beyond reason—or it might just convince him she was telling the truth.

“It's quite a turnabout,” said Stown suspiciously. “But that doesn't matter now. We have you at last.”

“Yes, at last! I can't bear to stay with Trident a moment longer. I presume you've been ordered to take me back to my father at Ritherlee?”

“Just as soon as we've finished off your Trident friends.”

“They're not my friends.” Elodie thought quickly, trying not to let her alarm show in her face. “Besides, they're finished already. They're not worth your time.”

“We'll fight you to the last man!” shouted Fessan, struggling in vain to free himself. “Elodie—you can't do this!”

“Stay where you are, young lady,” said Stown. “I wouldn't want you to get hurt while we finish our business here.” He turned to his men and shouted, “Round up every last one of these Trident scum!”

Elodie watched with mounting horror as the Vicerin soldiers moved swiftly among the Trident ranks, disarming the green-clad soldiers and forcing them to their knees.

“What are you going to do with them?” she blurted.

Before Stown could respond, a man rode up on a huge black horse. He was almost skeletally thin, his skin as dark as mahogany. Adorning his Vicerin uniform was an array of gold brocade and a pair of gleaming medals. He glared down at Stown as his mount champed restlessly.

“Captain Gandrell,” Stown muttered. “I wondered when you'd show up.”

“I have been here all along,” said Gandrell. His piercing green eyes flicked to Elodie. “Princess, are you in good health?”

Elodie knew she was gaping, but she couldn't help it. Captain Gandrell had been a familiar figure throughout the thirteen years she'd lived at Castle Vicerin. If he wasn't drilling soldiers in the battle yard, he was standing watch on one of the towers or consulting with Vicerin himself in the council chamber.

A face from my former life,
she thought faintly.
The first I've seen since being taken from Ritherlee.

With a deep breath, she gathered herself. “I am very well, Captain Gandrell,” she said. “What kept you?”

The thin man's eyes remained unreadable. They always had been. Elodie remembered Gandrell as being tough on his troops but always entirely fair. “
There is no straighter arrow than Gandrell
,” Lord Vicerin had said once.

Will he be fair now?

“You will ride with me, if it pleases you,” Gandrell said.

“She'll ride with me,” said Stown, with the tone of a petulant child. “Lord Vicerin put me in charge of the mission, or had you forgotten?”

Captain Gandrell regarded him, stony-faced, then turned his attention back to Elodie. “I have orders—that is to say
Sergeant
Stown and I have orders—to take you straight to Lord Vicerin. This we will do, as soon as we have dispatched the rest of the Trident rabble.”

“No!” cried Elodie.

Gandrell raised an eyebrow. “Which aspect of these orders does not please you, Princess?”

“I'll come with you. But there can't be any more killing.”

Stown snorted.

“I have my orders,” said Gandrell. “None are to be spared. This is Lord Vicerin's wish.”

Elodie looked out across the clearing. The men and women who'd fought beside her—fought
for
her—knelt defeated, their faces exhausted and empty.

Fessan's head was still hanging, which meant she couldn't see his face at all.

“But they're no threat,” she insisted, aware of the panic in her voice. “Look at them. They're tired and hungry and injured. They're—” Elodie searched for a phrase this military man might comprehend. “They're a spent force.”

“Wounds heal,” Gandrell replied. “Tired men may sleep, and awaken refreshed.” He spurred his horse and drew his sword. “Enough talk! The time has come!”

“Stop!” From her tunic pocket Elodie snatched the arrowhead Samial had given her—and pressed it against her own throat.

Gandrell's eyes widened with shock. “Princess, what are you doing?”

“If you kill them,” Elodie said, “I die too.”

Fessan raised his head. His eyes were full of pain. Beside the wagon, Samial's ghostly face looked paler than ever. All around, both Trident and Vicerin soldiers were watching to see what would come.

“Why would you save this rabble?” Gandrell said. “Tell me, Princess. I am very curious.”

“I'm sick of bloodshed,” said Elodie truthfully, still holding the arrowhead steady. “I've seen enough for a thousand lifetimes. Now, what message would you take to my father? That you have destroyed Trident? Or killed his daughter?”