The Lost Castle

by Michael Pryor

  Together, Adalon and Targesh shuffled backward.

  'Can you hold for a moment?' Simangee asked.

  'Yes,' Targesh growled.

  Adalon panted and leaned on his shield. His shoulders were aching. The sword hung heavy in his hand. This is battle? This isn't what the stories tell of! he thought. Where's the glory? The adventure? He shook himself and suddenly understood that stories weren't always about the truth. Tell the truth about battle, he thought, and no-one would ever want to be a warrior.

  'Good,' said Simangee. 'I think it's time for a spell.'

  'You have spells?' Adalon almost turned around, but at that moment the warhounds growled. It was a deep, throaty noise that was full of hunger and desire. There was no mercy in that sound, no pity at all.

  The leaders of the pack crouched low and started to creep forward.

  'I kept some for emergencies,' Simangee said. 'I believe this is such a time.'

  Adalon heard the sound of glass clinking on glass. Then something flew over his shoulder and arced toward the warhounds.

  'Get down!' Simangee cried. She dragged both Adalon and Targesh to the ground.

  Adalon landed painfully on his tail and his elbow cracked on a flat stone. He hissed with pain and his head jerked up.

  The spell vial smashed in front of the warhounds. Its shattered remains glittered in the sun like jewels, but Adalon's stomach turned at what was rising from the shards.

  It was a greasy cloud the colour of spoiled milk. It swelled and grew, writhing as if it were in pain. To Adalon's eyes it looked diseased. He wasn't surprised it smelled like rotten meat.

  'What is it?' he gasped. Targesh spat on the ground and rumbled in his chest.

  'I don't know,' Simangee said. 'I found the vial lodged behind some books Hoolgar sent me looking for in the library at High Battilon. It said, "Danger". I thought it was for use against danger.'

  The warhounds were cringing. Their bellies low to the ground, they tried to slink away from the greasy cloud. It quivered and Adalon thought it was looking more solid. Some of the warhounds whined.

  'I don't like that thing,' Adalon said. 'But it has the warhounds' attention. Let us go while we can.'

  They scrambled to their feet. As they did, the cloud drew itself up in front of the warhounds. With a horrible croaking sound, it fell on the cowering beasts.

  'To the riding beasts!' Adalon cried and he knew that, as long as he lived, he would never forget the shrieking sound the warhounds made at that moment.

  He sheathed his sword and pushed his friends ahead of him. Behind him, the howls of the war-hounds turned to sharp, despairing yips. They cut off one by one until a final, gurgling squeal was left. Then it, too, stopped.

  When they reached the riding beasts, Adalon risked a glance back.

  The stinking cloud had grown into a tall, conical shape, swaying and twisting over a patch of bright red earth. There was no sign of the warhounds.

  What is that thing? Adalon wondered. He knew it was magic, but it was magic of a foul and desperate kind. Looking at it upset him deeply. It was unnatural, wrong in a way that offended his very soul.

  The cloud stopped its swaying. Across the distance separating them, Adalon was sure that the cloud was looking at him. He felt sick as its gaze slid across him; it was as if something unclean had crawled across his face.

  He blinked and hissed. The cloud was coming toward them!

  Adalon strapped his shield onto the saddle, then seized the reins of his riding beast. 'Faster!'

  Targesh and Simangee were hurrying ahead, urging and leading her riding beast, but they turned at the fear in Adalon's voice. Their eyes opened wide as they saw the cloud rolling toward them with the speed of a summer storm.

  Adalon ducked and the cloud whipped past him and toward the others. His riding beast reared and squealed. Targesh cursed but the cloud seemed to ignore him. Instead, it surged at Simangee.

  'Sim!' Adalon cried. He watched, helplessly, as the cloud launched itself at his friend. But before the stinking thing reached her, it swerved and shot skywards faster than an arrow. Adalon was thanking the stars but as it flew past Simangee it lashed out, striking her upraised hand.

  The cloud raced into the sky, growing smaller and smaller as it went. Simangee stood, holding one hand in the other. She looked puzzled, deep in thought.

  Adalon gave the reins of his riding beast to Targesh and went to Simangee's side. 'Are you hurt?'

  'Foul thing,' Targesh said.

  Adalon put a hand on Simangee's shoulder. As soon as he did, her eyes closed and she collapsed.

  Adalon caught her just as she fell. Targesh hurried over and together they eased her to the ground. Targesh looked at Simangee, then at Adalon, concern and worry on his face.

  'Hand me the water bottle, Targesh,' Adalon snapped.

  Adalon lifted the bottle to Simangee's mouth. Her eyes still closed, Simangee swallowed a little of the water. She tried to bat the bottle away, and she mumbled a few sentences in a language Adalon had never heard before. The sound of it made him shudder.

  Targesh looked up. 'Wargrach. He can't be far behind.' He stood and went to the riding beasts.

  Adalon gently shook his insensible friend. 'Sim! Wake up! We must go!'

  Simangee opened her eyes. Adalon hissed and drew back at what he saw.

  Simangee closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them again. 'Adalon.'

  'Welcome back,' Adalon said. His voice was shaky and he studied her face. It's her, he decided. He felt his claws digging into his palms and realised he was afraid.

  When Simangee had opened her eyes the first time it was as if something else was behind them. Cold and distant, it had stared at Adalon as if he were a tiny, unimportant thing. Old, he thought, whatever it was, it was old. He shuddered again and covered it up by fussing over Simangee, patting her, feeling the scales on her forehead, insisting that she sip from the water bottle. While he did all this, he peered at his friend, looking for the intruder that he'd glimpsed in her eyes, but all he could see was a confused and frightened Simangee.

  'Is it gone?' she asked as Adalon helped her stand. She swayed and he steadied her. He didn't like the way her arms hung limply nor the way her tail didn't support her when she sagged.

  'Yes,' he said. 'Whatever it was. It flew away to the east.' He looked to the sky again and wondered if he had spoken the truth. Simangee, he thought, what have you let loose?

  'It was evil,' she said. 'Something from long ago, formed of mighty magic.' She trembled. 'I felt as if I was screaming but no-one could hear me.'

  'It's gone now,' Adalon repeated. 'We must go. General Wargrach and his troops aren't far away.'

  'Lead on. I'm well enough.'

  Eleven

  General Wargrach was torn. Should he take the time to hunt down that misbegotten, incompetent warhound handler, or should he simply lead his soldiers after Ollamon's son and his friends?

  Wargrach stood on a flat rock the size of a banqueting table. His anger rumbled in his chest, but his outward demeanour was calm. He propped himself on his tail and crossed his arms while he considered what to do. The troops stood at attention at the base of the rock, waiting nervously for his decision. They all looked as if they were glad they weren't Dorgan.

  The warhounds had failed. Wargrach and his troop had found some dead, killed by the younglings, but not all. The rest of the pack had disappeared. Wargrach thought it most probable that the warhounds were poorly trained and had gone in pursuit of game.

  Dorgan was no fool. He'd known that the war-hounds had been unsuccessful. He'd also known that he would be held responsible for their failure. He'd managed to slip away from the troop. No-one had seen him for some time.

  Wargrach smiled coldly. The handler was probably miles away by now.

  'Forget the warhounds,' he said to his troops. 'We hunt our prey by ourselves.' He glared at all of them. 'I chose each one of you. Do not let me down.'

  He lurched forward and cla
shed his jaws together once, twice, then he threw back his head and roared, filling the air with the hunting cry of a great Toothed One. He felt the blood sing in his veins.

  'Now,' he said to his saur. They stared at him with awe. 'Let us run.'

  * * *

  Adalon went first, picking their route as best he could through the never-ending boulders. Targesh marched next to Simangee, supporting her when she struggled. Adalon saw how her head drooped, but whenever he caught her gaze it was fierce and determined. 'We'll get there,' she said. 'I'm sure of it.'

  'Sing,' Targesh urged. 'You'll feel better.' She shook her head.

  As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Adalon could see Graaldon, the smoking mountain, getting closer, growing larger all the time. Sometimes, the ground trembled beneath their feet and the riding beasts danced nervously. Overhead, the plume of smoke trailed across the sky, staining it a dismal grey.

  After hours of slow going, they came to the foothills, and the stony wilderness began to slope upwards. Adalon was pleased and called a break. Simangee lay on the ground, her eyes closed and her head in her hands.

  Adalon was concerned. Simangee's quiet plodding was unlike her. Her singing and her cheeky grin had vanished. Her scales were dull around her eyes, and her shoulders sagged.

  He felt guilty and lowered his head. If it were not for me, he thought, Simangee would be safe at High Battilon, finding interesting books in the library or making new music.

  Adalon sought for guidance in the lessons of the Way of the Claw. He closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and slowly. Gradually, he could hear his father's voice reciting the lessons.

  'A Clawed One is a creature of motion, made for action. Therefore, watch, listen and learn before acting, lest you leap off the edge of a cliff in your haste.' Adalon smiled as he remembered his father's habit of tapping the side of his jaw with one claw when he was commenting on the lessons. 'This is one of the great lessons of the Way of the Claw,' he had said. 'We Clawed Ones are prone to rush ahead, to spring into conflicts before understanding them. The wisdom of the Way of the Claw is there to temper the impulsiveness we feel in our blood.'

  Adalon sighed. He vowed to watch Simangee closely.

  While they handed around the water bottle he rubbed his feet. The rocky wilderness was spread out below them and Adalon looked at the maze they had worked their way through. Outcrops of broken stone stood among countless rounded boulders. Like a giant's toys, Adalon thought. Left strewn where they fell.

  Movement caught his eye. 'Targesh,' he said. His friend was sampling the thin leaves of a bush that had found a hold between two rocks. 'Is that them?'

  Targesh shaded his eyes with his claws. 'Aye.'

  Adalon looked anxiously at the sky. 'We've not much light left. Can we go on?'

  Simangee lifted her head, her bony crest bobbing. 'Yes. We must.'

  Faint shouts drifted up to them. 'They've seen us,' Adalon said and stood.

  'They'll never take us,' Simangee said. Her face was drawn and Adalon could see scales under her eyes beginning to flake. She stood and lurched up the slope.

  Targesh looked at Adalon. 'She isn't right.'

  'I know. That evil cloud has touched her in some way.'

  Targesh rumbled his displeasure. He took the reins of Simangee's riding beast and led it after her.

  It was Simangee who now drove them higher. Her face set, she pushed on. Adalon's spirit sank at her stumbling gait, but she refused his offers of assistance. Once, she nearly pitched headlong on a stretch of treacherous gravel. When Adalon sprang forward and took her arm, she would not look at him and her sigh sounded like a snarl.

  A rocky ridge took them well up the slope of the mountain. Shadows began to creep over the rocky landscape to embrace them. Simangee laboured on, barely looking up to check their direction. Adalon and Targesh had difficulty keeping up, as a path had to be found for the riding beasts.

  Eventually, after an hour's struggle, they were stopped by a deep fissure. It was a good stone's throw wide and extended as far as they could see across the mountain's flank. Smoke rose from it and Adalon wrinkled his snout at the sour, sulphurous smell.

  Targesh looked at the fissure and then at the riding beasts. Adalon sighed. 'Let them go. They will manage without us.'

  Silently, Adalon and Targesh divided their belongings between them. Simangee stood beside them, her gaze on the summit of Graaldon.

  Targesh slapped each riding beast on the rump. They snorted and cantered off down the rocky slope. 'Good luck!' Adalon called after them. They may have the best fate of the lot of us.

  Twelve

  A deep, bone-shaking rumble came through the ground underfoot; smoke and flame spewed from the top of the mountain. Adalon gasped at the display, but was glad when the mountain settled quickly. Soon, a column of smoke was the only sign of life in the heights.

  'The smoking mountain is unhappy,' Simangee said.

  Targesh hefted the saddlebags and made sure his axe was secure. 'Bellyache.'

  'Let's go and see,' Adalon suggested.

  Simangee led them. She found a narrow path down the side of the chasm. Adalon marvelled at the way she picked out footholds where he could have sworn there was only smooth rock. When younger, he had been the climber of the three, bounding up and down trees using his spring, his claws and his tail for balance. But here Simangee climbed down as if she had lived in trees all her life.

  When they reached the floor of the fissure, Adalon noticed that the rock beneath his feet was warm. Cracks vented smoke that singed his nostrils and made his eyes water. He coughed and scrambled, trying to keep Simangee in sight. He caught up to her just as she began climbing up the far face of the rocky cleft.

  Adalon was torn. Should he follow Simangee, or wait for Targesh? Targesh was a poor climber at the best of times. His stocky frame was meant for the ground, not for the heights.

  He looked up. Simangee had already disappeared through the smoke. He turned and waited.

  He was glad. Targesh would never have made it to the top by himself. Adalon had to use all his climbing skill to find his way upwards, and he had to pause often to point out handholds and resting places to his burly friend.

  Eventually, Adalon dragged himself over the lip of the fissure. He turned and hauled Targesh up.

  Targesh nodded his thanks. 'Simangee?'

  She stood waiting for them a short distance away. A ghost of a smile flitted across her face and, for a moment, the old Simangee was looking at them. Then she frowned. 'Let's go.'

  Their way grew steeper and Adalon found that he was using his tail more and more to steady himself. Targesh clambered beside him, bent almost double, using his hands as much as his feet, not complaining, but definitely not comfortable. Simangee forged ahead without pausing.

  Eventually, high above the plain, they edged around a massive rockfall and were confronted by a torrent of fire.

  Molten rock was pouring from a large cave entrance. Red and orange and white flames leaped from it, and the whole side of the mountain glowed. It flowed down the slope for an arrow's flight or more before disappearing into the ground again. Adalon could feel the heat greedily licking at his face.

  'The river of fire,' Simangee said. She rubbed her face and winced as some scales fell away. 'This is our way into the Hidden Valley.'

  Targesh frowned. 'How?'

  Simangee shook her head impatiently and Adalon was pleased to see some of her normal spirit. 'Where the river of fire emerges from the mountainside there is an entrance to the Hidden Valley, so the book says. A path leads alongside the river of fire, a path the A'ak made, long ago.'

  Adalon saw a rock fall into the river of fire. It flared and disappeared like a dry stick in a furnace. He squinted into the heat. 'You are sure about this?'

  Simangee shivered and tore her gaze away from the blaze. 'Yes. It's the only way in. The Jarquin Ranges surround the valley, and they cannot be crossed.'

  Targesh grunted and gestu
red back the way they had come. 'Wargrach?'

  'He can't follow if we disappear before he sees us,' Adalon said.

  A deep coughing roar came from where the river poured out of the mountainside. It was followed by a ball of flame and smoke that filled the cave mouth.

  'Quickly, now,' Simangee said. 'Before the next outpouring.'

  She set off. Adalon climbed after her. He was closest to the river of fire and he felt the heat through his thick traveller's cloak. Before too long he could smell singed fabric.

  Targesh slipped and cursed. Adalon steadied himself, then dug his feet into thick ash. It kicked up and fell back, uncovering rusty metal.

  Adalon swept the ash away with a hand and exposed a rusty spearhead. A long leaf shape, it had a strange twisted barb near the tip. 'I've never seen anything like this before.'

  'From up there,' Targesh said, and gestured with one horn. 'The A'ak.'

  Adalon looked up at the cave mouth. It was lit from within by orange light, and heat burst from it like water through a hole in a dam.

  Simangee nodded. 'We must hurry. We don't have long.'

  Adalon gritted his teeth and pushed on.

  Thirteen

  The cave mouth belched smoke and cascades of molten rock. Heat splashed on Adalon's face and he could also feel the heat in the rocks they were climbing over. He wished for gloves.

  Wiping his face, coughing and spitting ash from his mouth, he turned to check the progress of their pursuers. The rock beneath his feet shifted and, as he caught his balance, something flashed into his vision. With Clawed One speed, he jerked back and an arrow shattered on the rock next to him. He peered through the smoke and orange light and saw figures clambering up the slope. 'They're almost upon us!' he cried. 'Targesh, to me! Sim, do you have any arrows left?'

  Simangee seized his shoulder. She shook her head and jabbed a claw at the cave mouth. 'We must go! We have little time!'