Chronicles of the Red King #3: Leopards' Gold

by Jenny Nimmo

  “Ready?” Tumi passed a corner of the cloak to Karli and suddenly they were gone, sliding into the lake like two slippery eels.

  “They’ve gone! They’ve gone!” cried Adela. “Will the water kill them, Mama?”

  “No.” Sila lifted Adela into her arms. “They will swim under the water, like you do sometimes. Papa and Karli will swim all the way to the island where the cloud sits, and once Timoken has his cloak …” She couldn’t finish, for she didn’t know how it would all end.

  There was no sign of anyone beneath the slow swell of the eerie green water. The watchers couldn’t tell where Tumi and Karli might be. From the doorway, they could only see the forest; they had to move to the window for a view of the cloud.

  The great, white sphere seemed to have expanded. The strands of fungus that snaked out of it had grown. Now they reached into the damp air like long, giant fingers.

  There was a sudden bang on the roof, and then another and another.

  “Rain?” Esga looked at the rush ceiling.

  “Not rain,” said Ketil. “Demons!”

  Three wicked-looking, upside-down faces glared in through the window. The children’s screams had no effect on the hideous creatures, who began to tap at the pane with their curling claws. Esga rushed at the window, but Sila caught her hand, crying, “Don’t let them in!”

  They had thought that Enid was asleep, but now she uncoiled herself and lifted her head. She stared at the upside-down faces and suddenly ran to the open door. Petrello was never sure how it happened, he hardly thought what he was doing, but he knew he had to act.

  As the dragon sailed through the doorway, he jumped. Clinging to her scaly neck, he felt the rush of air as her great wings spread on either side of him. With his left hand, he held fast to one of her spines; with his right, he drew his sword.

  Enid swerved in the air and swept toward the demons on the roof. Two streams of fire shot from her snout, and Petrello saw the hanging demons leap to their feet. They shook their fists and screeched at the dragon, as though their tongues were tearing from their jaws. But when Enid came at them, low and fast, they crouched, and then one jumped. It gripped the dragon’s wing and sank black fangs deep into it. Enid screamed and shot into the air, her snout pointing at the sky, her tail hanging.

  Leaning from the dragon’s neck, Petrello lifted his sword, but he couldn’t reach the demon. He leaned into the air, farther and farther, his fingers aching as they clung to Enid’s spine. One more swipe and I’ll do it, he thought. But as he lifted the sword again, he began to slide off Enid’s back. With one last desperate effort, he struck at the demon’s head. Its eyes bulged and, with a deep gurgle, it fell away and dropped into the lake.

  Demons can’t swim! Petrello thought with grim satisfaction, and against the surge of air from Enid’s sweeping wings, he managed to pull himself to safety. The dragon rumbled a sort of thanks, and tilted down to make Petrello’s grip easier.

  He knew the battle wasn’t over and, though his heart sank, he wasn’t surprised to see another crowd of the Damzel’s servants coming at him from the cloud. They didn’t fly, for they had no wings; they hovered and darted, dropped and spun. Petrello waited, his sword at the ready, and it entered his mind that he might die if the approaching creatures pulled him off the dragon’s back.

  As the mass of demons came closer, a huge bird appeared in the sky, its wings as black and shiny as a raven’s.

  “Tolly!” cried Petrello.

  “I’m coming, Trello!” called Tolly, and he swept into the mass of demons, his sword striking them so fast, they couldn’t avoid it. They jumped onto his wings but he beat them off. They grabbed his head, but he still reached them.

  Given new heart by Tolly’s bravery, Enid’s fire returned, and she snorted flames into the crowd while Petrello struck at warty hands and crooked legs and leering faces. So many demons fell into the lake, their numbers should have diminished, and yet the sky was dark with them. Petrello’s sword arm ached so fiercely, he could hardly lift it anymore.

  “Don’t give up!” cried Tolly, but Petrello could see that he too was growing weary. Soon, one of the demons would pull him down by his wings; even now they were tearing at his feathers.

  The sky had turned darker than the forest shadows. Far below, only the roof of the house on stilts was visible. The rest of the building had been submerged.

  Where were the children? Where were their mothers? Drowned, or swimming for their lives beneath the cruel green surface of the lake?

  “Petrello!” Tolly’s shout came almost too late.

  A fat demon landed on Enid’s crest. More hideous than the rest, his bloodred fangs spread his mouth in a fixed and ghastly grin. A long green arm shot toward Petrello, the fingers of the crooked hand curved into a hook. Petrello threw back his head and lashed out with his sword, but still the hand came, grabbing the air in its empty hook, one clawed finger reaching for Petrello’s eye.

  Petrello slashed again. Quick as lightning, the hand withdrew. Petrello leaned back as far as he could, any more and he would lose his grip on Enid’s spine. He felt himself slipping, and still the clawed finger reached. As he lifted his sword again, his brother’s voice carried through the air, “Lower, Trello! Slice him!”

  In his mind’s eye, Petrello saw the castle cook slicing ham. Lowering his sword, he sliced.

  There was a bloodcurdling screech as the crooked hand flew away, and the wounded demon dropped from the dragon’s crest.

  Petrello laid his head on Enid’s scaly neck. Never in his life had he felt so weary. He doubted that he could lift his sword again. Where were the birds? The words came to him from afar. They were Tolly’s words. “Where are the birds? Where are the eagles?”

  Amadis can’t know, Petrello thought sleepily. He can’t see us. They will only come if Amadis sends them.

  But Amadis had problems of his own. The men from Melyntha had found him.

  * * *

  Sir Osbern D’Ark of Melyntha had made a bargain with the Damzel. With his help, she would capture the African king who owned an enchanted red castle, and had married the girl Sir Osbern had chosen for a wife. All the Damzel wanted in return was the king’s cloak, and maybe a young prince or two, with those special gifts that forest dwellers often spoke about.

  Sir Osbern knew that a certain Chancellor Thorkil was ready to betray his king. And he was delighted to hear that the king’s oldest son would help the chancellor.

  Sir Osbern’s part of the bargain had gone reasonably well. His men had stolen a particular crystal, and had abducted the bellman who knew its secret. As predicted, the king and his knights had entered the forest to find the bellman and retrieve the crystal. Unfortunately, a solitary knight had rescued the bellman and killed one of Sir Osbern’s men, but the others, though badly wounded, had returned with the crystal.

  Sir Osbern waited impatiently for news. At last it came, delivered by a demon.

  I HAVE HIM. FOLLOW MY SERVANT.

  Sir Osbern’s muscles had run to fat, his hair was thin and white, but his greed and his cruelty had only increased. When he and his men followed the hideous, hovering thing into the forest, they came across a young knight. His eagle-crested helmet was so bright, his armor so splendid, and his ebony horse so fine, he was surely a prince. A prince worth capturing.

  As Osbern’s soldiers began to surround the young knight, he leaped off his horse, making unnatural animal sounds.

  Go, Isgofan, go! cried Amadis. Go home so they will know.

  Like a bolt of lightning, the black horse vaulted over the heads of the soldiers and vanished into the trees.

  At an order from Osbern, five of the soldiers dismounted and began to advance on Amadis. He reached for his sword, but one of the men bounded forward and slashed his wrist. Amadis’s gauntlet fell, and the man slashed again at the prince’s hand. And all the while Amadis continued to call, this time to the wolves.

  Out of their hidden places the wolves ran to him. Greyfleet le
aped, his jaws closing around the first soldier’s sword arm, and before he could strike again, the other wolves surrounded Amadis in a moving tide of gray and black and brindle.

  “Kill them!” roared Sir Osbern.

  But as his soldiers reached for their swords, the wolves jumped and tore into their arms.

  “Run, wolf-friend,” Greyfleet grunted to Amadis. “We will follow.”

  Amadis wouldn’t leave the wolves. He retreated a little way into the trees, ready to do battle with Sir Osbern himself if his friends were harmed. But having delivered their fatal bites, the wolves turned swiftly and ran to Amadis. They took him to a cave they knew, and there he stayed for three nights while his right hand healed. Without a horse, it would take him several days to reach the Red Castle, and he dared not risk another encounter with Sir Osbern’s men.

  On the third night, Amadis wandered down to a stream where he bathed his injured hand. The moon was full and bright, and when he looked up into the sky, he saw a winged boy, followed by a crowd of hovering, flitting demons.

  It must be Tolomeo, thought Amadis, and he called to the eagles, begging them to rescue his brother.

  As the eagles went on their way, Amadis felt an unhealthy draft brush his face. There was a damp, foul-smelling force lurking in the trees. He shivered and ran back to his warm wolf cave.

  The following morning, there was a great commotion in the forest. Amadis heard a voice he knew and he ran toward it. With the wolves at his heels, he bounded over rocks and briars, he leaped over streams and tumbled down banks of wild flowers. It’s Elizen, he told the wolves, my mother’s horse. They’ve caught the queen. Help me to save her.

  His call went to all the strongest and wildest creatures in the forest: the stags and the boars, the hawks and the eagles, the wildcats and the foxes.

  They found the queen in a narrow glade surrounded by soldiers. One of them had grabbed Elizen’s bridle, and the mare was screaming in distress.

  “Mother!” cried Amadis. “I’m here!”

  A deep roar of laughter erupted from Sir Osbern. “So I have you both,” he boomed. “Mother and son. I know you now, Berenice, with your fine hair tucked beneath a cap of hareskin. For this is surely King Timoken’s son, with his gift for conversing with animals.”

  “Just so,” said Amadis, and he called out in every wild language that he knew. And all the creatures that had followed him advanced on Osbern and his men.

  A savage battle began. Creatures were wounded. Soldiers died. Queen Berenice wielded her sword so fast and so nimbly, Osbern couldn’t get near her. Protected by his wolves, Amadis sliced and slashed, working his way closer and closer to the owner of Melyntha. It had become so dark, Sir Osbern could only be recognized by his huge bulk.

  Why has day become night, wondered Amadis. Have we been fighting so long?

  How could he know that, high above the forest, his brothers needed his help?

  * * *

  The demons crowding about the winged boy and the dragon all at once began to leave the sky. Where they went, the boys couldn’t tell. The hovering creatures seemed to vanish into passing clouds of vapor.

  Tolly flew to Enid’s side. “Have we won a battle?” he asked his brother.

  “Has Tumi reached the king?” was Petrello’s answer.

  Their only thought now was to land somewhere safe, but all they could see beneath the clouded sky was a vast expanse of gray-green water.

  In the distance, Petrello saw a darkness, greater than the clouds, gather itself into a dense, black shape. It was as if the forest canopy had lifted and become a whirling mass of leaves.

  And then it came at them, its black sleeves flapping, its face more terrible than their darkest nightmares.

  Karli and Tumi had reached the island in the center of the lake. As they stepped out of the water, they pulled back their sealskin hoods and took great gulps of air; it was foul to taste, but it was air and their lungs were greedy for it.

  They climbed a shallow bank, carrying the wet cloak between them, and then they shook out the drops of greenish water and the patches of slimy black weed until the thick velvet was red again and the thin gold lines shone out, even in the bleak gray light.

  They folded the cloak and Tumi held it under his arm as they stepped farther onto the island. Before them sat the great cloud, its curling tentacles brushing the reeds around it. Usually the island rose high above the lake; now it was all but submerged. The wet earth squelched under the men’s feet as they made their way toward the cloud.

  “Have you a plan?” asked Karli.

  Tumi gave him a grim smile. “My plan is to find the king and clothe him in this magic garment.”

  “So we must enter the cloud,” said Karli.

  “Indeed,” his friend agreed.

  They were now within inches of the curling tentacles. Together, they stepped close and, immediately, thin, slimy arms wrapped themselves around both men. With their knives under their sealskin suits, they could only use their hands to beat and pull the sticky strands away. When Karli bit into one, a thick white paste oozed out, the taste of it making him retch.

  “Foul, foul, foul!” Karli spat out the dreadful soupy stuff. “But I’m still alive,” he joked, and bit again.

  Tumi did the same. The taste was sickening, but it was the only way to rid themselves of their living bonds.

  Once they were past the tentacles, they found themselves inside the cloud. A dense fog confused their vision, but they plodded on. Afraid of losing each other, they kept close, touching hands every now and then, and whispering encouragement to each other.

  “Not much different from being underwater,” Karli said through his half-closed mouth.

  “Water smells better,” said Tumi, coughing.

  “Where are they? Where’s the king?”

  “Perhaps the Damzel’s tricked us.”

  “And caught us like fish in a net.”

  “There!” said Karli.

  Just ahead of them, a dark shape floated: a man suspended in the vapor, his body wrapped in a net of weeds.

  Karli and Tumi stood, their eyes half closed against the mist. What had they expected? Not this: a man bound and floating. Was it the king?

  “It’s Sir Edern,” whispered Karli. “See, the red hair.” His toe touched something hard and sharp. Without taking his eyes off the hanging knight, he reached down and lifted up a round, metal object.

  “His helmet,” said Tumi. He stepped closer to the bound man. It was shocking to see the great knight floating so helplessly. But when Tumi looked into Edern’s face, the lids beneath the thick eyebrows flickered and the mouth twitched in a painful grin. He was alive, but only just.

  “We must find Timoken.” Karli tugged his friend’s arm. “We can’t do anything for Edern until the cloak has done its work.”

  Moving on, they passed Mabon, the archer, and Esga’s brother, Ilgar, both hanging in the choking air like Edern. Stumbling over fallen swords and helmets, they passed little Sir Urien, trussed like a fowl, but still breathing. In the distance they could see other knights, all bound and hanging, trapped in a paralyzing spell.

  At last they saw the king. Taller than the others, he seemed to stand in the air, his head erect, his expression shocked and furious.

  Tumi let the cloak unfold and Karli took one side of it. “How can we reach his shoulders?” he whispered.

  “We leap together,” said Tumi.

  They looked at each other, nervous and hopeful.

  “Now!” said Tumi.

  They leaped, carrying the cloak high, Tumi one side, Karli the other. They hung the red cloak on the king’s broad shoulders, and when they landed on the ground, they drew the gold-embroidered edges together, and wrapped them around the king as tight as they could, so that only Timoken’s head could be seen above the bundle of rich red and glittering gold.

  They waited.

  And they waited.

  High over the cloud, Tolly, Petrello, and the dragon, petri
fied and motionless, drifted on a current of air while the flapping thing came closer. Strands of white hair floated about its awful face. Its eyes were blank, its lips bloodless.

  But its voice was unexpectedly soft. “Don’t be afraid, little princes. The Damzel won’t hurt you.”

  They stared at her, their eyes wide with terror.

  “Clever boys,” went on the silky voice. She floated closer, stretching a pale hand toward them. Her nails were black and curved like claws.

  Enid snorted and sped into the sky, while Petrello clung to her, all the breath knocked out of him.

  “Silly dragon! Your time has come. You’re growing old and your flames are weakening.” A coldness had edged into the Damzel’s voice.

  Tolly soared up and flew beside his brother.

  “Silly, silly!” croaked the Damzel, all the sweetness in her voice forgotten. “Your castle’s doomed; your father is my prisoner now. Come and live with the Damzel, she’ll treat you well.”

  “NO!” cried the boys, and for good measure, Petrello added, “You must be mad!”

  The Damzel screeched; she flew in a circle just beneath them, grumbling and moaning, grinding her black teeth and scratching her long white hair. Looking up at them, she screamed, “The Damzel will have to come and get you then!”

  Beneath the dark shroud, they could see her bony shoulders flexing. She gave a hideous grin and, lifting both hands, she flew at them.

  With a shriek of panic, Enid soared higher. Tolly tried to follow, but the Damzel snatched at one of his wings. He cried out helplessly as the black claws pulled him closer.

  “Fire, Enid!” Petrello shouted. “Burn her, scorch her! Save Tolly, Enid!”

  The dragon breathed a tiny spark, but she seemed too exhausted and too frightened to do any more. Petrello could only watch in horror as Tolly struggled, his torn feathers drifting away on the wind.

  “Tolly! Oh, Tolly, I don’t know what to do!” Petrello cried.