The Lost Castle

by Michael Pryor

  Queen Tayesha's eyes locked on Adalon. 'You should have left, youngling.'

  She held up a hand. The silver light around it swirled, took shape, and a hail of silver thorns flung themselves at Adalon.

  Without thinking, he threw himself to one side then rolled to his feet in time to see the Queen shaking her head at him in sorrow more than anger. 'Farewell, youngling.'

  Adalon stumbled, looked down, and saw the flagstones crumbling beneath his feet. Before he could move, a hole opened and the earth swallowed him.

  Five

  The Needle was the tallest tower in the Gralloch Palace. At the top was a single room. In all the centuries the castle had seen, only the queens of Thraag had ever set foot inside this room. From it, the entire city of Challish could be seen. Further off, the rounded, ancient hills. Beyond them, the broad, rolling plains.

  The small room was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, only broken by the single door and four evenly spaced windows. A narrow desk stood in the middle, and here Queen Tayesha sat. She was writing in a large journal made from the finest paper from Shuff, the southernmost of the seven kingdoms of Thraag.

  The poor, misguided youngling, she wrote. So young, and so awry. Could grief have driven him mad?

  She sighed and put down the quill. She had been sitting still too long, recording her thoughts for the day. She needed to move, or her Clawed One energy would boil over.

  While she paced she told herself that it was important to keep her journal faithfully. It would matter, centuries from now, when she wanted to reflect on how she had achieved her eternal life.

  She glanced at the books on the walls. Some were rich, others battered and water-stained, others fire-blackened. A multitude of sizes and colours, most had been fetched here at the Queen's orders by agents across the seven kingdoms. General Wargrach had presented her with a number of the most important, most useful texts. He declined to tell her where he had found them and she reminded herself to insist that he tell her, one day.

  The books had provided what she had sought for decades – the secret to immortality. Bringing all seven kingdoms under her rule was the way.

  Queen Tayesha sat at her desk again and wrote. Seven kingdoms united under one ruler. What could be more proper, more natural?

  She paused for a moment and sighed. Ruling all seven kingdoms would not be an easy task, but she was willing to do it, for the good of all the saur in Krangor. One ruler to guide them and look after them. No more jealousies between kingdoms or petty wars over borders. It was a great and noble goal, but one with much heartache and travail ahead.

  For a moment she hung her head. Then she took a deep breath and wrote: I will do whatever it takes to ensure the future of the saur. Only I can ensure this, so I must press ahead.

  A tap came from the door. Queen Tayesha stilled her impulse to spring to her feet and leap to confront whoever was disturbing her. 'Yes?' she said eventually.

  The door opened. 'Your Majesty?' Standing there was Lady Sillian, one of her ladies-in-waiting. A flighty Crested One, her hands fluttered in front of her. 'It . . . it's General Wargrach. He wishes to see you.'

  Queen Tayesha grimaced. Wargrach had been growing too pleased with himself lately. He was certainly useful, but he would bear watching. 'Tell him to meet me in the Morning Room.'

  'Yes, Your Majesty.'

  Queen Tayesha listened to the scuttling sound of Lady Sillian's claws descending the stone staircase before she picked up the quill again.

  Great deeds require great sacrifices, she wrote. Satisfied with this, she wrote it again. Great deeds require great sacrifices.

  * * *

  General Wargrach struggled to conceal a snarl. He'd been ushered into the Morning Room, a parlour with windows overlooking the palace gardens. It was furnished with well-stuffed chairs and sofas from which guests could contemplate the carefully maintained greenery and flowers.

  General Wargrach hated chairs. They were a sign of softness, of all that was wrong with the world. He preferred to use his bulky tail to prop himself where he stood.

  Years on the parade ground and the battlefield had hardened the General's muscles and he could remain upright like that for hours, always ready to launch forward and attack. Not like the namby-pamby saur he saw around him everywhere in the capital. It sickened him to see the way the saur had become so meek, so comfortable, so gentle.

  He glared at the chairs and propped himself in the corner of the room, facing away from the view of the gardens. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He was a model of patience.

  It was patience that had brought Wargrach this far – patience and ambition. He remembered his earliest days in the gutters of Challish, when he had fought and schemed his way upwards. First leading gangs of orphan thugs who roamed the streets, thieving and threatening, then into the Army, where he could use his brutality in the service of Thraag. As he worked his way up, there were those who thought he was a typical Toothed One – brave, strong, but more than a little stupid.

  Wargrach chuckled. Most of the saur who had thought him stupid were now dead.

  As he rose through the ranks, he endured the thousand slights and insults that any low-born saur had to endure. He bore them – but never forgot them.

  Now that he had achieved power and position, he was able to take his revenge. Against Lord High and Mighty Ollamon, for instance.

  Wargrach seethed as he remembered Lord Ollamon visiting Challish forty summers ago. The young lord probably didn't see the corporal he accidentally knocked into the mud when he cantered up to the palace on his riding beast. Oblivious, Ollamon had rushed inside to the Ritual of Bonding and left the mud-bespattered Wargrach to suffer the laughter of the troops.

  Wargrach never forgot this humiliation. It burned for years before he was able to do anything about it.

  He smiled a little as he recalled how he'd slipped the dagger between Lord Ollamon's ribs, piercing his heart, within sight of his own castle. Very, very satisfying.

  Now, with that weakling Moralon quivering in fear, the entire east of Thraag belonged to Wargrach. Every lord, every puny baron, owed him allegiance and was controlled by him. He now had power and riches he'd only ever dreamed of as a street urchin.

  If he continued to manage the Queen properly, he was going to have power for a long, long time.

  Lady Sillian appeared at the doorway. She put a hand to her mouth, flustered. 'Oh, General Wargrach.'

  Wargrach stared at her and said nothing.

  Lady Sillian's hands fluttered. 'Her Majesty is here, General.'

  She withdrew and Queen Tayesha swept into the room.

  Wargrach stood and bowed. 'Majesty.'

  'You wanted to see me, General?'

  Wargrach nodded and thought carefully before replying. Handling the Queen was a tricky matter, and he needed all his craftiness.

  'Forces are at work, Your Majesty. Forces who would deny you your destiny.'

  Queen Tayesha hissed and swung her tail from side to side. 'More? I thought you had rooted out the last of them.'

  'They are more powerful than we thought, Your Majesty. I will need more troops, more gold to crush them.'

  Queen Tayesha pointed a sharp claw at Wargrach. 'You are trustworthy, are you not, Wargrach?'

  Wargrach was immediately alert. He was convinced that Queen Tayesha was mad, but he knew she was far from stupid.

  'I am, Your Majesty. Everything I do is to support your aims.'

  'That's because your aims and mine happen to fit well together.'

  Wargrach tightened his jaws.

  Queen Tayesha nodded. 'Don't worry, Wargrach. I'm sure we can keep working together. You help me gain control of all Krangor, and you will have riches beyond your wildest dreams.'

  Wargrach bowed again. 'Your Majesty.'

  'Now, General. Make sure you put down any hint of rebellion. We must tolerate no resistance in Thraag, no dissent. No matter how pitiful.'

  Wargrach bared
his teeth. 'Lord Ollamon's son?'

  'He's in the dungeons.' She paused, took a deep breath. 'His own words have condemned him. Young though he may be, he is a traitor.'

  Wargrach nodded. 'I will see to it that he will not be one for much longer.'

  Six

  Wake up, Adalon, we must flee!'

  Even though he was still groggy, Adalon knew that voice. He opened his eyes. 'Simangee,' he croaked. He turned his head a little to see the other figure standing over him. 'Targesh.'

  Targesh nodded and his horns bobbed in the dim light that entered through a small, barred window behind him. He reached down and helped Adalon to his feet. Simangee took his arm. 'We must go now.'

  The cell spun around him, and Adalon clung to Targesh's broad shoulders. 'Where have you been?'

  'We thought you might try something brave and stupid,' Simangee said. 'So instead of joining you, we readied ourselves for a rescue.'

  'Rescue? What happened?'

  Simangee grimaced as if she had tasted something nasty. 'It's the talk of Challish. The Queen used her power and the land swallowed you. You could have been entombed forever, but she put you here, saying she pitied you.'

  'Stinking place,' Targesh rumbled. He kicked at a damp and moss-covered wall.

  Simangee nodded. 'I think you would have rotted down here if not for Targesh. He found a dungeon keeper who had served under your father. He was willing to help. Your father inspired loyalty.'

  Adalon's heart ached. Oh Father, what have I done?

  'Here.' Targesh threw a bundle at Adalon. He amazed himself when he caught it.

  'A cloak,' he mumbled.

  'The guards stole your finery and your ceremonial weapons. We organised riding beasts, and some more equipment,' Simangee said. 'Come. Now.'

  Adalon struggled with the cloak. As he did, his head began to clear. He remembered confronting the Queen. He remembered the blaze of power in her eyes. He remembered falling – but that was all.

  'Wait,' he said. 'Where are we going? Back to the Eastern Peaks?'

  Targesh glanced at Simangee. 'You can't,' she said. 'The Queen has stripped you of any claim to your land, your money and your title, in preparation for your execution.'

  Adalon stared at his friends. He felt as if the world had suddenly turned to smoke and was vanishing through his claws. 'All gone?'

  'Gone,' Targesh said.

  Adalon rubbed his head. 'I must flee.'

  Simangee grinned. 'You don't think you're going alone, do you? Targesh and I are going with you.'

  'You can't give up your whole life like this. I'm going to be an exile, an outlaw!'

  'We're your friends, Adalon,' Simangee said. 'We'll stand by you.'

  'Loyalty,' Targesh said and he touched his nose horn. 'Life is loyalty. So says the Way of the Horn.'

  Adalon could not speak. What have I done to deserve this? he wondered. They're throwing away their family, their homes, their prospects, all for me.

  Simangee looked at him. 'It's not just for you, Adalon. You're not alone in opposing the Queen. There are many who feel she has gone too far.'

  Adalon pulled the battered cloak around his shoulders. 'You're reading minds now, Simangee?'

  'Your face is as easy to read as a book, Adalon.'

  He frowned. 'The Queen needs to be stopped.'

  'First of all, we must escape,' Simangee said. 'Once we're safe, we can decide what to do about the Queen.'

  'We must do something,' Adalon said, softly.

  'Aye,' Targesh said. He seemed to search for words. 'It's not right.'

  'We are young, but we are strong,' Simangee said. 'We'll gather others around us, rally saur to the cause.'

  'But where? I'll be hunted once it's discovered I'm gone. Where can we be safe?'

  'Did you think I went to the Great Library on a whim?' Simangee said. 'Hoolgar's hints led me to find a lost book, and it speaks of a hidden place. A place for us to hide.'

  Adalon nodded. Locked in a dungeon, he could do nothing. Escape. Hide. Plan. Then Queen Tayesha would regret what she had done.

  * * *

  General Wargrach stood to attention in the Morning Room. He ground his teeth and looked straight ahead.

  The Queen was berating him.

  'You said you would ensure the safety of me and my realm, Wargrach!'

  Queen Tayesha's eyes were flashing as she paced up and down in front of Wargrach. Her movements were quick and jerky, and her tail whipped from side to side. Breath hissed through her teeth.

  'Yes, Majesty.'

  'But a youngling has defied me and now escaped.'

  'Not for long, Your Majesty.'

  'I showed him mercy, and he has treated my kindness with contempt.'

  Wargrach shifted where he stood. 'Allow me, Majesty. I'll take a patrol and find this traitor. He'll wish he'd never been born.'

  'What about the campaign to take Virriftinar? You should be there.'

  'It's well under control. When I left, our troops had surrounded Aimon, their pitiful capital. It has probably fallen by now.'

  'Good. And then?'

  'To further Your Majesty's plans, I have positioned a division on the Rislim River between Virriftinar and Bondorborar. They will move north as soon as Virriftinar is ours, and their push will be reinforced by the excess battalions from Aimon.'

  'And Knobblond? What about it?'

  'Knobblond has its special challenges. We will subdue the other kingdoms on the west of the Skyhorn Ranges before moving on Knobblond. All this, of course, while we prepare to move on Callibeen.'

  'This is satisfactory.' Queen Tayesha jerked her head in dismissal. 'Go, Wargrach. Do your duty.'

  'It will be a pleasure, Majesty.'

  Seven

  Adalon rode on, his heart growing heavier and heavier. Would he never see the Eastern Peaks again?

  Riding for two days through the hills south of Challish made him realise that spring was coming. The worn summits were white and purple from a scattering of ladies' tears and dayflower. It was beautiful, but Adalon longed for the rocky crags of the Eastern Peaks where spring was wild with snowmelt and gales.

  Adalon was thankful for the company of his friends. Simangee sang as they rode, startling birds and small game. She joked and told stories and tried to draw Adalon out of his despondency.

  Targesh ran alongside the riding beasts with his tireless stride, horns bobbing, his gaze on the country ahead. He looked slow, but he never fell behind. Adalon had grown up with Targesh trotting beside him while he rode. No riding beast was strong enough to carry a Horned One, so they never learned to ride. Targesh often said he didn't have far to fall if he tripped, but if Adalon's riding beast stumbled . . .

  Simangee steered their course across the wilderness, consulting a large leather-bound book that reeked of age. Adalon had been shocked when she admitted she'd stolen it from the Great Library of Challish, but she claimed it belonged to Hoolgar, their old tutor, and had been stolen from him in the first place.

  Simangee held the book close to her while she rode, and Adalon understood that he was not the only one who had lost things. Simangee had loved learning the lyre, the rebec and the hurdy-gurdy from Hoolgar. She enjoyed learning languages from him, and delving into the forgotten parts of the castle library. She had grand plans to be a librarian, or court musician, or both.

  Stop being sorry for yourself, he admonished himself. Look to your friends.

  * * *

  Near noon on the third day of their flight, Simangee called a halt. Adalon dismounted and stretched while Targesh took the opportunity to stuff a handful of grass into his beaky mouth. He saw Adalon looking at him. 'Good grass,' he grunted. 'Try some.'

  Adalon snorted. Simangee reached past him and took a handful. 'Excellent,' she said. 'Quite marvellous, really.'

  For years Adalon had had to endure the taunts of his two vegetation-eating friends. He knew how to respond. 'Why don't you use that bow of yours and snare one of those fat grouse?
I'll cook it up, all hot and tasty, ready to share.'

  Simangee slapped him on the shoulder. 'That's better! That's more like Adalon. Goodbye gloom, farewell despair! Welcome back Adalon!'

  Adalon managed a small chuckle. Targesh clapped his hands and Simangee bowed.

  Later that day, Simangee stood in her stirrups, peering at the landscape ahead. Then she swung down from her riding beast and threw open her saddle bags.

  'What is it?' Adalon asked.

  'Those mountains. That's where we are bound,' Simangee said. She looked up and a small smile appeared. 'You need to listen to a story.'

  Adalon knew Simangee's ways, but he was still taken aback. 'Now?'

  'I think so.'

  Targesh grunted. 'I'll make a fire.'

  Adalon tethered the riding beasts to a stand of small-leaved shrubs as Targesh built the fire from wood they'd carried. Simangee brewed tea and soon they were sitting around the coals. Blue sky above, a sea of green grass around them and a soft breeze. It was tranquil and far, far away from the clashing of armies, the sound of trumpets, and dim, dank dungeons.

  Adalon lay on the grass and looked at the few clouds hanging in the sky. He felt calm steal his heart and he thought of the promise he had made at High Battilon. If I ever put down the burden of my vow, he wondered, would it feel like this all the time?

  Simangee knelt by the fire. She had the old book in her lap and her tail curled around her knees. She cleared her throat, looked seriously at both Adalon and Targesh, then assumed her storytelling voice.

  'The book tells of the Lost Castle in the Hidden Valley.

  'Long ago, in the early days of the seven kingdoms of Krangor, lived a race of saur called the A'ak. They did not belong to any of the seven kingdoms. They were a race apart, with a strange language and writing peculiar to themselves – writing that no-one can read today. They lived in a castle stronghold in the Hidden Valley. It was said to be their refuge and place of safety. They only emerged to raid and plunder and make war. No-one knew where they came from or where they disappeared to, as the valley was shrouded by powerful magic.'