The Sedah sentries were endlessly bored with checking the goings-on of peasants and merchants. Desultorily they checked sacks and carts, but they were more interested in harassing the wealthy looking merchants to see if they could confiscate anything of value. They hardly noticed as one by one, over the course of the day, a rebel slipped in disguised as a farmer or cooper or seamstress or wheelwright or milkmaid.
Quietly and unobtrusively the ‘peasants’ made their way to several safe houses around the city where they were to await further orders.
The weapons had to be smuggled in separately, buried in cartloads of lettuce and carrots. Albert Drummond personally checked each cartload and each safe house, ensuring that everyone had arrived. He reiterated his orders then went to check on Cookie and the palace kitchens.
In the palace, servants ran hither and thither in a carefully orchestrated strategy of organised chaos.
The Great Hall was hung with banners and garlanded with flowers. Long tables were set up with white linen tablecloths, heavy silver and gold cutlery, huge candelabras, ornate salt cellars and damask napkins. Lord Lazlac had ordered many of the palace treasures to be uncrated for the feast. At one end was a dais, with a long bridal table and two thrones. Red, the colour of Sedah weddings, was everywhere – red velvet drapes hung from the sixmetre ceilings, while the benches and thrones were swathed with cushions the colour of fresh blood.
Maid servants and page boys scurried, sprinkling lavender water and rose petals, polishing the cutlery until their faces were mirrored in the blades.
In one of the bed chambers Queen Ashana was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who primped, powdered and perfumed the reluctant bride. Queen Ashana wore the blood-red Sedah bridal gown that Governor Lazlac had designed. Her face was ashen, devoid of colour. One of the ladies powdered her cheeks with rouge and coloured her lips with crimson. She looked like a lifeless doll, her blue eyes large and tearless, her hair coaxed into dozens of ornate ringlets, pinned with pearls.
Marnie bustled everywhere, sick with anxiety. Queen Ashana had warned her that Cookie and Albert had organised a force of rebel soldiers that were standing by, but they did not know any of the details.
Cookie popped her head around the door.
‘Under no circumstances would I recommend that you try the soup, your highness,’ warned Cookie. ‘It is far too spicy for your delicate stomach. Save your appetite for the roast duck with orange sauce, which I know you adore.’
Queen Ashana smiled wanly.
The final touch was the fine red wedding veil that swathed the queen from head to toe.
‘May the Moonmother bless you and keep you safe, your highness,’ murmured Marnie with an encouraging smile as she tweaked the veil into place.
Governor Lazlac was freshly shaven, his hair cut extremely short, and he was dressed in crimson ceremonial robes that swept to the ground. He surveyed himself in the mirror approvingly.
A loud knock sounded on the door.
‘Come in,’ called the governor, turning away from the mirror.
Burgis entered, accompanied by his unusual scent. Governor Lazlac wrinkled his nose in annoyance.
‘Yes?’ he queried.
‘Sir, Sniffer has just returned from the north,’ Burgis cried enthusiastically. ‘He says he has news of the greatest importance!’
Governor Lazlac snorted, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his robes.
‘Not now,’ snapped Lord Lazlac. ‘I am to be married in an hour. Everything else can wait.’
‘But sir,’ interjected Burgis. ‘Sniffer says that –’
‘I said not now,’ roared Governor Lazlac. ‘Sniffer can bring me his news in the morning. He has certainly taken his time returning with it so another few hours won’t hurt.’
Burgis saluted and left the room, wondering what news it was that Sniffer had brought from the north. Governor Lazlac did not waste time on that thought. He was too busy dreaming of his coronation.
Downstairs in the barracks, Sniffer sat at the mess table, a trencher of food in front of him. His bandaged leg throbbed and his brain whirred with all the news he had been unable to tell Governor Lazlac. He was too exhausted to eat.
Lieutenant Foulash sauntered in, dressed in his finest uniform. Sniffer dragged himself up and limped to the Sedah officer, clutching at his arm.
‘Sir,’ Sniffer pleaded, ‘I’ve terrible news from the north. Prince Caspar has escaped the Sedah priests, with the princess and the other children, and they’re heading for Tira. Captain Malish and his soldiers and Mortma have been captured by rebels and are prisoners in the forests north of here. I tried to tell Governor Lazlac, but he’s too busy. We have to do something.’
Lieutenant Foulash smiled. He could profit greatly from this information. He thought back to the severe reprimand he had received from Captain Malish when the Tiregian prisoners had escaped from the barn in the forests of Kenley. He thought back to a hundred insults and punishments he had suffered from his superior. Now Captain Malish had failed and Lieutenant Foulash would be the one to save the day.
‘Good work, Sniffer,’ congratulated Lieutenant Foulash. ‘I will look after everything from here. We will set off with a raiding party first thing in the morning to rescue Captain Malish and Mortma, and we can search every house, inn and hovel until we find the pesky brats. Don’t worry, I’ll organise everything in the morning.’
‘But sir,’ Sniffer argued, ‘the children are on their way to Tira now – they may even be here already. Those children are up to something mysterious. I fear they may spoil all our plans.’
Lieutenant Foulash patted Sniffer on the shoulder, removing his desperate grasp from his uniform sleeve.
‘You look exhausted,’ soothed Lieutenant Foulash. ‘Why don’t you go and have a sleep? The royal wedding and coronation are in a couple of hours. The palace is crawling with Sedah soldiers. Nothing can go wrong now.’
Sniffer obediently left his dinner and went to his bunk, where he fell into a deep slumber.
Scouring the mountain of litter, the children worked feverishly. Roana could feel the gems glowing and pulsing in the hem of her green riding cloak. The sword must be here somewhere.
The four children climbed to the peak of the rubbish mountain, holding up lanterns to illuminate the litter piles before them. The surface underneath their feet was shifting and unstable, so it was hard to climb. They had been searching for hours and were exhausted by the smell, the endless work, the lack of sleep, the darkness and the enormity of their quest. They could almost hear the minutes ticking away in their heads, and still they had found nothing.
Roana sighed, pinching her nose through the scarf. It was now almost sodden with the condensation from her breath. One rock at a time, one rock at a time, Roana thought to herself, remembering the mantra she had learnt weeks ago when they were moving hundreds of rocks to find the entrance to these tunnels. It reminded her to keep chipping away, and not to give up when the task seemed too enormous.
‘Look,’ Lily whispered, pointing over to the right.
Something moved in the corner of their vision, something white. The children spun around, their eyes straining in the dim light. Ahead of them on the next peak of rubbish was a figure, a white figure. Actually it was two figures. Skeletons. Human skeletons. One adult sized, one child sized. The two skeletons were jerking, jigging, waving, almost dancing on the spot.
The children screamed involuntarily, almost dropping their lanterns in fright. The lanterns made eerie leaping shadows that loomed and leered. Lily could hear her heart thudding erratically in her eardrums.
At the sound of their screams Fox left Caspar with George and bounded towards the children, his cutlass in his hands. Ethan whipped his bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow and fired. The arrow fired through the skeleton’s chest, where the heart would be if it were alive. The skeleton danced more violently, but did not move towards them. Two more arrows fired swiftly – one was caught between the rib cage
, dangling uselessly, while the other bounced off a rib bone and fell to the ground.
Fox jumped in front of Roana, shielding her with his body, cutlass in one hand, dirk in the other. He scanned the valleys and peaks in front of him, searching for danger.
Aisha leapt towards the skeletons, her nose quivering and her ears cocked, but she wasn’t growling and her hackles weren’t raised.
The skeletons jerked ever more frantically, waving their arms about threateningly. Saxon lifted his lantern higher, his sword in his right hand.
‘Look,’ Saxon whispered, pointing with his sword. ‘There is a string or something attached to the hand.’
Now that Saxon had mentioned it, everyone could see a slight gleam of lantern light reflecting off something in a very faint line. Aisha had reached the skeletons now. She sniffed inquisitively. The skeletons kept dancing frenetically. Aisha jumped up on one, knocking it flying. The skeleton jangled back to its feet, a bit lopsided.
‘Aisha, leave it,’ called Lily. Reluctantly Aisha stopped sniffing the smaller figure and returned to heel. The four children and Fox moved slowly and carefully towards the two skeletons, weapons ready and eyes peeled. The skeletons jerked and leapt wildly. Just as the children came within a metre of them, they suddenly fell lifeless to the ground. Ethan dropped on one knee to examine the bones.
‘They’re human bones all right,’ said Fox, poking the rib cage with his cutlass.
‘But someone or something was helping them to jig,’ Ethan added, lifting a fine black twine, which made the child’s small hand wave up and down.
‘The strings are looped over that black pole,’ cried Saxon, indicating a thin black pole, supported by two black posts, invisible from a distance in the dimness. ‘It works like a macabre puppet show. Now who would rig this up, and why?’
‘Someone who wanted to scare off unwanted visitors?’ Lily glanced around nervously.
‘Whoever it was must be very close by,’ Fox whispered, scanning the shadows for clues.
‘The strings seem to lead over there,’ observed Roana, pointing to a slightly raised ridge about six metres away.
‘Ethan and Saxon, I want you to take the princess and Lily back to Caspar and George, while I investigate,’ Fox ordered. ‘No, don’t argue,’ he added as Ethan opened his mouth to do exactly that.
Reluctantly, Ethan, Roana, Lily and Saxon turned to obey. They had not taken more than half a dozen steps when a high-pitched shriek sounded behind them. They whirled around in time to see a horde of a hundred or more small green creatures hurl themselves over the ridge. Each one was the size of a small child, with huge round eyes, large flapping ears and a pointy nose. Their skin was slimy like a frog and covered with warty protrusions. Each one held a weapon in its small webbed hands, raised above their heads menacingly.
‘Hobgoblins,’ shrieked Lily. ‘A whole army of them!’
Fox raised his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply, the signal to call his men to his side. The whistle reverberated around the huge cavern, calling the rebels to crawl and clamber as fast as they could up to the peak of the rubbish mountain. In their haste, many slipped and fell, sinking to their thighs in the unstable terrain.
The hobgoblins ran to the small group of children huddled behind Fox, their weapons waving and jabbing wildly. They carried scythes, cudgels, pike staffs, spears and daggers, all fashioned from the broken debris of the city above.
‘Weapons ready?’ called Fox. Ethan, Lily and Roana readied their bows and nocked their arrows obediently. Saxon hefted his sword. ‘Aim, fire.’
Ethan, Lily and Roana loosed a volley of arrows, aiming for the heart of the hobgoblin army. A few hobgoblins fell, shrieking in distress, but the majority ran on. The three children kept firing as fast as they could reload their arrows. The first of the rebels reached the group of children and surrounded them with a ring of muscled bodies and glinting weapons. George carried Caspar on his shoulders and deposited him safely in the centre of the human fort.
‘Look at that,’ yelled Roana, dropping her bow. As the hobgoblins ran closer, they could see a taller hobgoblin in the centre, urging on his army. This hobgoblin carried a different weapon, which he struggled to hold aloft. The king of the hobgoblins carried a massive sword, dull, slightly rusty, but formidable nonetheless. The sword they had travelled so far to find. The Sun Sword – denuded of its gems, its lustre and its power but beautiful all the same.
Roana swallowed, her heart surging with determination. They had to get that sword back. In a moment the army was upon them. Rebels hacked and fought with their swords. There was blood and screams and chaos and confusion. The king of the hobgoblins stayed towards the back, screaming unintelligible orders and urging his lackeys on.
Roana did not take her eyes off him as the battle raged and ebbed around her. The little hobgoblin king jumped up on a barrel, screaming with rage, spittle bubbling at his lips, waving his heavy sword precariously. Roana took careful aim. She breathed slowly and shot. The silver arrow spun through the air, above the battle, and found its mark. The hobgoblin king screamed and fell, the arrow pierced through his sword arm. The Sun Sword dropped below him.
With their king wounded, the tide of the battle was turned. One by one the hobgoblins dropped their weapons and scampered for the far ridge, leaving their injured comrades behind. Regardless of the retreating hobgoblins and the bodies lying all around her, Roana ran for the place where the wounded king lay. She grabbed a sword from a hurt rebel as she passed.
‘Roana. Princess,’ yelled Fox. ‘Stop. Come back!’
Roana ignored him and kept running, with Aisha close behind. Ethan, Saxon, Lily and Fox chased after her as fast as they could.
Roana stood over the fallen hobgoblin king, the sword pointing at his chest.
‘May I please have my father’s sword?’ Roana asked politely. The hobgoblin croaked and shrieked. The warty bubbles on his skin opened to release a bitter, burning acid with an acrid smell. The creature rolled over painfully, grabbed the massive sword with his uninjured arm and lunged at Roana, aiming for her heart. Roana’s hours of training with Fox kicked in automatically. She did not have time to think or analyse or plan. She simply darted forward, straight into the line of that lethal sword, and crashed the blade with her own. The wounded king was too weak to withstand the force of Roana’s blow, and he dropped the Sun Sword with a screech, rolling over and scuttling away after his defeated army.
Roana bent down and lifted the Sun Sword. Joy filled her heart as she felt the power of the sword surge through her hands and up her arms. She lifted the sword above her head, with tears of elation streaming down her face. Ethan, Lily and Saxon jumped around her, hugging her, squeezing her, slapping her on the back and dancing an ecstatic jig. Aisha barked wildly, leaping up, wagging her tail and licking everyone in sight.
‘We did it! We have the Sun Sword!’ squealed the four excited voices.
Everyone looked closely at the sword they had searched for so long and so hard. The blade was dull and pitted with spots of rust. Two ugly wounds showed where the Sun Gem and Moon Pearl had been wrenched free. Smaller pits marked the spots where the Star Diamonds had once sparkled. The handle was dirty and scorched from the hobgoblin acid.
‘It does not look much, does it?’ Roana offered, a touch crestfallen. ‘I doubt it has any power in this state.’
George the blacksmith pushed forward to examine the blade.
‘I think I can help you with that,’ George offered. ‘Of course I can’t do much about the missing gems, but I can polish up the blade and fix the handle. It won’t take me long at all.’
Everyone turned to George in excitement.
‘Oh, but I have the gems here,’ cried Roana in delight. ‘They are sewn into the hem of my cloak.’
There was shocked silence for a moment, then an excited babble from the rebels all around.
The party retreated to the cavern floor, where George directed a large, hot fire to be built, using
any flammable material they could find. George did not have his bellows or anvil or any of his tools, so he had to make do with the treasures he could salvage from the rubbish around him.
While the fire was burning down to white hot coals, George set to work polishing the blade and handle. He started rubbing with a small, smooth pebble and some oil, which he gently scrubbed over the rust spots and acid scorches.
Roana jiggled from foot to foot. ‘George, hurry, please hurry,’ she begged.
‘Your highness, I’m going as fast as I can,’ George replied, inspecting the blade’s surface carefully. ‘You jiggling up and down won’t make it happen any faster.’
For the next stage George rubbed a mixture of sand and water over the blade with wet rags.
Roana marched up and down, impatient words bubbling in her throat.
‘Your highness, perhaps it’s best if you sit down and rest,’ Fox suggested with a chuckle. ‘You’re driving us all crazy and George might ruin that beautiful sword of yours.’
‘Come and cuddle Charcoal, Roana,’ Lily suggested. ‘You know that always calms you.’
Roana snorted in a very un-princesslike way, but sat down and scooped Charcoal into her lap for a soothing stroke. Charcoal purred happily, always keen for a cuddle.
Last, George used clean wet rags to make the blade and handle sparkle once more. It was not a perfect job, but it was a vast improvement. Then when the fire was ready he used the white-hot coals to soften and melt the gold of the gem settings.
George was not a goldsmith, so his work was not as fine as the court jeweller’s would have been, but he understood metallurgy and fire and his large hands were surprisingly capable of such delicate work. It took him two hours to set the gems back in the handle and finish the polishing. The others could do nothing but rest and watch and give their help when George needed it – fanning the fire, fetching more fuel, pouring the oil and rinsing the rags in the rivulets in the tunnel.
The Snowy Tower Page 17
