She shook her head. "That doesn't matter, Larry," she said. "What matters is that the king will never agree to the plan. We are doomed."
"I think there's still a chance. Queen Gretyx was interested."
"And what power does she have?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But why was she asking so many questions, if she doesn't have any power?"
Palta shook her head. "Even if everything works out—even if they agree to your plan and take over Urbis—what does that mean for me? You will go home in Via, and I will be all alone here."
I had thought of that. "You wouldn't have to stay here," I pointed out. "You could come with me back to my world. My world is safe—safer than Gaia, at any rate. People get along with each other, mostly. You could be happy there."
"I don't belong in your world," Palta said. "I think perhaps I don't belong in any world."
"On my world, at least you'd have a friend," I said.
"Ah, Larry, that is very kind." But she didn't say she would come.
Finally we went to sleep. When we woke up the next morning, nothing seemed to have changed. Arminius was still with us, and he didn't say anything about our visit to the castle. Only: "We may as well have fun while we can." So we went back to our riding lessons as if nothing had happened.
Days went by. What was going on? Was Gretyx trying to convince the king to take the risk and attack Urbis? Maybe Carolus was wavering. Maybe they were talking to Feslund. Would he be in favor of trying to conquer Urbis? I was pretty sure he would be.
Then one morning Siglind rode up on a beautiful black horse. She looked upset as she dismounted.
Arminius tried to head her off. "My lady," he said as he bowed to her, "I believe you're not supposed to—"
She ignored him and came up to Palta and me. "Let us go away from Arminius," she said. "He is a fine fellow, but what I have to say is not for his ears."
We walked around to the other side of the house.
"This is not good," she declared. "My father tells me nothing, but I am worried. Preparations are being made for a journey. I fear the worst—that they are sending you back to the priests."
My heart sank.
"You must escape from Gallia and find your way home," she went on. "Leave tonight. Stay off the main road and head north. If anyone stops you, use your weapon to kill them. You will be on the frontier in seven days' time. You will be able to find your way into Frisia, outside the control of the priests."
"We don't have the weapon," Palta said. "Your father has it."
Siglind raised her hand to her mouth. "Ah, me," she whispered.
"We can't just walk out of Gallia," I said. "We're sure to be caught."
"Yes," she agreed. "It is too dangerous without the weapon." Then she brightened. "I will go talk to my father. I will throw myself at his feet and beg for your lives. He will not deny my request. I should have done this already."
"Thank you," I said. "You are very kind."
"I owe you much more than this. Don't despair. I will make everything right."
We walked back around the house. Arminius was waiting for us, holding Siglind's horse. She nodded to him, mounted the horse, and rode off.
Arminius sighed. "Princess Siglind is a proud young woman," he said. "But she has no power. I hope you understand that."
"At least she wants to help us," Palta said. And she walked back into the house. I followed her. There didn't seem to be much to say.
And the next morning Arminius wasn't there. The old man and woman told us they had no idea where he had gone. He had ridden off before they got up.
We ate breakfast. And we waited.
In the early afternoon he rode up to the house. But now he was dressed in his soldier's gear, wearing a breastplate and a cloak with a lion on it; he had a sword sheathed in a scabbard by his side. Behind him came the same wagon driven by the same sleepy guy who had been with us when we went to the castle. Now he was wearing a straw hat to protect his face from the sun.
Arminius got down from his horse, looking grim. "Well then," he said. "Bad news. We're headed to Urbis. Right now."
Palta and I looked at each other, and I felt my eyes well up with tears.
Palta spoke to Arminius. "Did Siglind—?"
"Plea for your lives?" he responded. "I am told that she did. Alas, it only seemed to convince the king that he had to hand you over to the priests without any further delay. Come, into the wagon with you."
We did as we were told. "I'm afraid I have to tie you up," he went on. "People seem to think you might run away."
He had a coil of rope with him. He cut off a couple of pieces and tied our hands behind our backs—not very tightly. Even so, I could tell that it would be difficult not falling over when the wagon went over bumps. Would we be tied up all the way to Urbis?
"You'll be traveling with the chief minister," Arminius informed us. "His name is Lexulus. Be on your best behavior with him, or he can make your lives very difficult."
"What's going to happen to us in Urbis?" Palta asked.
Arminius shrugged. "You know better than I. Evidently you have offended the priests. I'd like to think they will show some mercy, but I cannot say. The priests have not always been known for their mercy."
"Are you coming with us to Urbis?"
"Apparently so."
He led us through the village and back to the main road, where more soldiers were waiting, along with a couple of wagons and a carriage like the one Siglind had ridden in. When we arrived, the carriage door opened, and a man stepped out.
It must have been Lexulus. He was thin, tall, and beardless; he looked Roman. And he was wearing the purple robe of a viator. He came over to the wagon and stared at us. He seemed surprised. "You are young," he murmured.
We didn't respond.
"You have made terrible mistakes," he went on. "But you would be well-advised to make no further mistakes. On our journey you will not speak to anyone about what you know, or what you think you know—you will only cause trouble for those you speak to, as well as yourselves. You have caused enough trouble already. Do you understand?"
We nodded.
Lexulus continued to stare at us for a moment, and then he turned and walked back to the carriage. He signaled to Arminius, and then stepped up into the carriage and closed the door. Arminius got us organized—soldiers in front, soldiers behind, carriage and wagons in the middle, and we headed south. Back towards Urbis.
We passed through the same lovely countryside we had passed on our way to Lugdunum—trees and wildflowers by the side of the road, flocks of sheep on the hillside, vines and grain growing outside the small villages. I was sad to think I would never see this countryside again.
I had no doubt that we would be executed when we got to Urbis. I wondered what life would have been like if we could have escaped to Frisia, or someplace in Barbarica. Would it have been so bad? I recalled Carmody's world—that, too, hadn't been so bad, after we had managed to survive Kevin's sickness and the war. Ultimately we had found a home, a family to love us and care of us. Could that have happened here?
"I'm sorry," I said to Palta. "I shouldn't have brought up the idea of attacking Urbis. Maybe if we kept trying to convince the king to let us go to—"
"You saved my life," she interrupted. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
We fell silent. The wagon rattled on, hour after hour. I could see the mountains in the distance. I tried to remember my geography. Were they the Alps? Didn't matter. We would make our way through the mountains, then south, into the heat of Roma. Day after day, each day getting closer to our deaths. Maybe it would be cooler there by now. I had no idea what the date was. At home, I probably should have been starting high school.
"Lexulus must have the gant," Palta said at one point. "He'd bring it back to Urbis along with us. If we could get hold of it, we could escape."
"And how would we do that?" I asked.
She didn't respond.
It made sense
that Lexulus would bring the gant back to Urbis, but so what? He had the gant; we didn't. And he didn't look stupid or careless.
Arminius halted our progress early in the evening, and we made camp by the side of the road. Servants set up a tent for Lexulus; he went inside, and a soldier stood guard by the entrance. Another soldier untied our hands and stood next to Palta and me while we sat on the ground and ate cheese and fruit. When we were done, he tied our hands again.
Arminius came by at one point and checked on us. "Are you comfortable?" he asked.
"Of course not," I replied. "Can't you untie us? We're not going anywhere. You know we aren't."
"It's not my decision, I'm afraid. Be grateful your feet aren't tied as well. Our job is to get you back to Urbis, and Lexulus doesn't want to take any risks."
Having said that, he knelt down, untied the robes, and tied our hands in front of us instead of in back. Which was much more comfortable. "Thank you," I said.
He didn't reply. Instead, he silently stood up and wandered off. A servant came by and handed us each a blanket. Stars came out. Crickets chirped. The horses snickered. Palta snuggled up beside me, and eventually she seemed to fall asleep. But I couldn't sleep. My arms ached; I was upset; I wanted to go home. At home, having your hands tied was something that happened on TV, not in real life.
I don't think I ever really got to sleep that night. If I did, it was that weird kind of waking sleep where your dreams seem to merge with reality, and you're not sure which is which. I saw shadows; I felt movement. Someone was whispering. I thought it was my kid brother Matthew, lying in the other bed in our room. Why wouldn't Matthew just shut up and let me sleep?
And then someone screamed, and I was wide awake.
I struggled to sit up. I heard the clash of metal against metal. More screaming. Horses whinnying. I saw soldiers grappling with each other ten feet away from me. No one was paying any attention to us.
"Stay down," Palta whispered to me. "Let's go."
We started to crawl away from the camp, into the darkness of a meadow by the side of the road.
I don't know how far we got. I just know that the noise suddenly stopped. We paused, trying to figure out what was going on.
And then I smelled it: the bitter odor that I now associated with the silent, total obliteration of human life.
Lexulus must have been using the gant.
"Don't get up," Palta whispered. We kept crawling. But it already seemed hopeless to me. How far could we get on our hands and knees?
"Ah, there you are."
The voice came from behind us. It was Lexulus.
We stopped and turned around.
He was fifteen feet away from us. I could see the gant glowing blue by his side. "You two are far more trouble than you are worth," he said. "No sense bringing you back to Urbis, it seems."
I tried to think of something to say to him, come up with some reason why he shouldn't destroy us. But it all seemed hopeless.
I saw him raise the gun. I waited for the end.
But the end didn't come. As he aimed the gant a darkness exploded on his breast, and he toppled over on his face.
A long spear stuck out of his back.
Arminius strode out of the darkness. He bent over and took the gant out of the chief minister's hand; then he checked to make sure that Lexulus was dead. Finally he straightened up and looked at us. "I think perhaps he was right," he said. "You are both a lot of trouble. But this is certainly an interesting weapon."
Chapter 22
Arminius took out his sword and sliced through the ropes that bound our hands. We stood up and rubbed our wrists gratefully. Then he turned and led us back to the camp site.
It was horrifying: bodies were strewn everywhere—soldiers with gaping wounds in their chests, servants with their throats slit. I had no idea how many other people Lexulus had killed with the gant.
On the side of the road a few other soldiers stood by their horses, staring at us and looking terrified. And Prince Feslund was leaning against Lexulus's carriage, his bloody sword by his side.
Arminius brought us over to Feslund and handed him the gant.
Feslund looked at it, and then he looked at Palta and me. "The chief minister had a terrible aim, or I might have disappeared with the others," he said.
We didn't respond.
"Anyway, your wish has been granted—we will attack Urbis."
He looked at Arminius after he said this, as if to make sure the other man agreed. But Arminius simply said, "Let's not mention this to the men just yet. They aren't ready for it."
"I leave that up to you, of course," Feslund replied.
My heart lifted. But still, I was worried. "This isn't what your father wanted," I pointed out.
"My father is a frightened old man," Feslund replied. "It was a mistake talking to him. You should have brought your idea directly with me."
"If I might suggest, my lord," Arminius said, "we need to clean this mess up and get going."
Feslund ignored him. Instead, he waved the gant at me. "What do you call this thing?" he asked.
I told him.
"Gant," he repeated. "What a strange word. Show me how to use it."
I went over to him and demonstrated how to hold the gant, the way I had with Queen Gretyx. Feslund caught on immediately. He began shooting at the corpses and making them disappear. He laughed with delight. "This is how you clean up a mess!" he said. "Much easier than burying these bodies."
"You shouldn't keep doing that," Palta said to him.
"And why not?"
"The weapon—the gant—will not last forever. If you want to conquer Urbis, you must not use up its power."
Feslund seemed puzzled by this. "What do you mean, 'use up its power'?" he demanded.
"It will no longer work," she explained. "It will be like a fire that has burned out. I don't know how long this will take, but it will happen."
The idea still seemed to bother him. Perhaps he was thinking: how does this girl know? Or perhaps: if the device was given to us by the gods, why would it 'burn out'? Why should magic have limits?
Finally he looked at Arminius. "What do we do?" he asked. "We cannot leave this mess here. No one must know what's happened. Word of this must not reach Urbis—or my father. My mother may be able to keep him in check, but there are limits even to her power."
Arminius shrugged. "We can bury the bodies. But it will be difficult to hide the wagons and the carriage."
So Feslund used the gant to destroy the vehicles while Arminius set the remaining soldiers to work burying the bodies and cleaning up the scene of the fight.
"Were you working for Feslund all along?" I asked Arminius.
"I had some idea that this would happen," he admitted.
"Do you understand what it's all about?"
"I understand enough—although I'll need to understand more before I'm convinced this won't be a complete disaster for Gallia. But there will be time enough to figure this out—now we need to help the men here. We have to be back on the road quickly. Are you ready to use your riding skills?"
What riding skills? I wanted to reply.
"We're riding to Urbis?" Palta asked.
"Actually, no," Arminius said. "We can't take the land route—too many people would spot us on the road. We need to ride to Massalia and from there sail to Urbis across the great sea."
"Sail?" Palta repeated.
I could sense the fear in her voice; perhaps Arminius could too. "Don't worry," he said. "It is getting to be late in the season, but the winds should still be favorable and the sea calm. We will lose time compared to a hard ride overland, but that will be all right, unless Carolus discovers our plan and Gretyx can't stop him from sending a messenger ahead to warn the priests."
Palta grabbed hold of my hand and squeezed it. She was shaking; I thought she might fall over. "Is there no other way?" she asked. "I—I do not like ships."
"None of us likes ships," Arminius replied. "We are sold
iers. We fight on land. But we have no other choice but to go by water—it's the only way to reach Urbis in secret."
Palta didn't respond. I'm not sure she was able to respond.
Why was she so afraid of water?
I decided to change the subject. "Won't the king wonder where Feslund has gone?"
"Eventually, perhaps," Arminius said. "But for now he thinks Feslund is on a hunt with his bodyguards." He gestured at the soldiers. "Hunting is something that the royal family does frequently—perhaps because they have nothing more important to do."
"But the queen knows the truth."
"Ah, Feslund would not take a step without her approval. It was her idea to let Lexulus start out for Urbis, and then ambush him on the road. Now that the ambush has happened, we are committed. If we fail—well, that is not worth thinking about."
"And Siglind? Does she know about the plan?"
"No. And I would not want to be in the same room when Siglind finds out that her father has sent you to Urbis. But come, let's help out. Everyone will have a heavy heart. We have lost many friends here tonight. Gallians should not be fighting Gallians."
So we all set to work—except for Feslund, who stood on the road looking at the gant.
Its blue glow had dimmed—I was sure of it.
It took us an hour or more, but finally we finished burying the dead and cleaning up the road to Arminius's satisfaction. Then we all stood by the graves where the soldiers and servants were buried. "May the gods have mercy on them—and on us," Arminius murmured.
Then he nodded to Feslund. "Now we ride to Massalia," Feslund said to the men. "All will be explained in good time. I know that this has been difficult, but know that you did Gallia a great service tonight, and you will be doing it an even greater service in the future."
"We must ride through the night," Arminius said to Palta and me. "Can you do it?"
Palta nodded.
"I don't know," I replied honestly.
"You'll be fine," he replied.
Palta and I mounted a couple of spare horses, and we all headed back the way we had come. My horse was named Flinty, and he was pretty manageable, for which I was very grateful. Even so, I couldn't make him go as fast as the others wanted to go, which meant that I was always holding everyone up. Feslund yelled back at me at one point, but Arminius murmured something to him, and after that he shut up.
TERRA (The Portal Series, Book 2) Page 18
