All around him, people were screaming.
Gulph looked up.
Lady Redina was growing, and this time it was no illusion. Her body swelled beneath her bright red dress, expanding until it seemed certain the fabric would burst. But it didn’t. Instead, the dress grew thick scales that slid one across the other, multiplying with dizzying speed. At the same time, her neck stretched and thickened. Her head elongated, her lower jaw extending to become a snout. Her eyes grew enormous, losing their color and adopting the flat white gaze of a corpse.
I knew it! Gulph was caught between triumph and terror. I knew it!
On the platform, the thing that had once been Lady Redina spun rapidly around. As it turned, its arms and legs dwindled. By the time it was facing Gulph again, they’d vanished completely. What remained was a mass of squirming coils.
Kalia grabbed Gulph’s arm. “Now I see!” she said hoarsely.
Red scales flashed in the Celestian twilight. A forest of orange quills burst from the creature’s back. It reared up, glaring balefully down with those inhuman eyes as it towered over the crowd. Below those eyes, two pairs of gills pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
The jaws opened to reveal teeth like knives.
“This is what she really is!” Gulph yelled to the crowd. “Lady Redina is the bakaliss!”
CHAPTER 6
Tarlan? Are you awake?”
Something like a feather tickled Tarlan’s cheek. He brushed it aside and turned over. His head ached.
“Leave me alone, Theeta,” he mumbled. “Let me sleep.”
“Tarlan?”
The tickling came again. Tarlan groaned. Bleary-eyed, he heaved himself up on his elbows.
“Theeta—I told you to . . .”
He stopped. What he’d thought was a feather was in fact a thick bearskin covering his body; its bristly folds must have fallen across his face while he’d slept. But who had put it there?
He sat up, and saw that he was in some kind of cave. Stalactites hung from the gray stone ceiling like stone icicles; ancient carvings decorated the walls; a small fire flickered orange, sending a thin column of smoke up toward a smoke hole set high in the far corner.
Mirith? he thought, stunned by how similar this place was to the Yalasti cave that had once been his home.
“At last,” said the voice. “I was beginning to think you would sleep forever, Tarlan.”
Not Mirith. Not Theeta. Then who?
Turning his head, Tarlan saw a weatherworn man in his middle years sitting comfortably on a knuckle of rock. He was big—perhaps even as big as the bear that had given up its pelt to keep Tarlan warm.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?”
The man’s leathery face rearranged itself into a smile. His eyes were kind. “I know you don’t recognize me, Tarlan. We met just hours after you were born. Thirteen long years have passed since. The circumstances then were . . . difficult.”
Tarlan stared at him. “Thirteen years?”
“Thirteen years ago I took you to Yalasti, where I meant to keep you from King Brutan’s murderous reach. But our time together was brief. It ended when a band of Helkrags scented my trail. I had no choice but to leave you near a thorrod nest and trust that they wouldn’t let you come to harm. The elk-hunters held me captive for years. It was torture, not because I was a prisoner, but because I did not know if you had survived.” The man’s gaze bored deep into Tarlan’s eyes. “I did not know if I had kept my promise.”
Tarlan tried to respond, but found he had no voice.
“And then, years later, I saw a thorrod flying over the snowfields with a boy riding on its back. A boy who looked perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. A boy with the same red-gold hair as the baby I’d left, and wearing a black cloak. The cloak in which I’d wrapped him all those years before.” His smile broadened. “It was you, Tarlan.”
“Captain Leom!” said Tarlan as understanding finally dawned.
“And so we come full circle,” Leom replied. “At last I fulfill my promise and take you back from the snow.”
A knot of wood exploded in the fire. Sparks flew. The rock walls seemed to move in the dancing light, as if the cave were breathing.
Tarlan stared at Leom, dumbstruck. He should thank this man, he supposed, for saving him not once but twice. But he couldn’t find the words. Nor could he quite believe that chance had brought them together again after all these years. No sooner had he decided to abandon the world of humans than he stumbled over a man whose fate was tied up inextricably with his own.
Is there no escaping these people?
“Here.” Leom dipped a ladle into a pot that was warming near the fire. He poured sweet-smelling broth into a rough metal bowl, which he handed to Tarlan. “Eat this. You must be starving.”
At the smell of the hot food Tarlan’s mouth filled with saliva. He seized the dish and held it up to his lips.
“Here,” Leom repeated, this time holding up a spoon.
Tarlan grabbed the spoon and started shoveling the broth into his mouth. Hot and spicy, it ran down his throat like a stream of fire. His stomach growled its appreciation. When he’d finished, he set the dish down on the bearskin and gave a loud, appreciative belch.
“Would you like more?”
“No.” Tarlan shrugged off the bearskin. “I think it’s time I was going.”
Captain Leom looked puzzled. “So soon? You ought to rest, Tarlan. At least stay until you’ve eaten your fill.”
Tarlan eyed the pot hungrily. He could certainly manage another bowlful. But a second helping might lead to a third, after which he would begin to feel sleepy, and then . . .
“I can’t stay,” he said abruptly.
He got up, tightened the collar of his black cloak, and slipped past the fire to the cave entrance. Just before ducking through the low archway of rock, he glanced back.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For rescuing me. Both times. But I travel alone now.”
Tarlan stepped out into what he’d thought would be the darkness of night. But instead of the open air, he emerged into the warmth of another cave. This one was much bigger than the first, and its curved walls were dotted with many tunnel entrances. Crackling torches hung in mounts on the walls. Flames painted the gray rock with orange light.
He stared, stunned, at the people hurrying to and fro in the tunnels. Conversation buzzed. All were wrapped in thick furs, and most had their hands full. Some carried waterskins, others firewood. One thickset man bore the carcass of a deer on his back.
Tarlan couldn’t believe it. He was desperate to be in the wilderness, the land stretched out before him, the endless sky overhead, nothing to worry about but traveling ever onward . . . . Instead he felt trapped. He could feel something like panic rising in his chest.
“Where have you brought me?” he demanded.
“You are in the Fortress of the Flown,” said Leom, joining him at the cave threshold.
“Well, I don’t want to be here. Where’s the way out?”
Captain Leom didn’t answer. He was looking thoughtfully at Tarlan.
“Please, Leom! Show me the way out. I’m not meant to be here.”
“Perhaps not,” Leom said slowly. “Come. It’s this way.”
Leom set off down the nearest passage. Tarlan hurried after him. The tunnel was low, and he frequently had to crouch to avoid banging his head on the rocky ceiling. Every few breaths he had to dodge sideways as someone pushed past on some unknown errand. At one point, a small pack of short-furred dogs scurried past, yipping at each other’s heels. Busy as all the people appeared to be, they walked with their heads down and their shoulders slumped. Tarlan often found it hard to interpret human expressions, but one thing was clear: the people of the Fortress of the Flown were unhappy.
The tunnel delivered them into a vast cavern with craggy walls rising up to a high black ceiling. When Tarlan looked again, he saw that it wasn’t a
ceiling at all but the night sky. He took deep breaths of the outdoor air, snowflakes clinging to his face. This wasn’t a cavern; it was actually a rocky bowl cut deep into the mountain landscape.
Tunnels led away from the open-roofed chamber in all directions. It reminded Tarlan of the town squares he’d seen in various human settlements, and like many such places, this one was filled with people—some standing at its edges, many more squatting on the piles of boulders that covered the chamber floor. Despite the size of the crowd, there was hardly any sound. Even the packs of dogs, curled up beside the many small fires, were silent.
Tarlan looked around uneasily. Misery hung in the air. “Who are these people?”
“They are the Flown,” Leom told him. “People have been gathering here ever since the war began, a thousand years ago. Some here are their descendants. Many more have only recently arrived.” Leom gestured to a group of shabby-looking men and women in one corner of the square. “They fled from Idilliam before the bridge fell.” He nodded toward a group of men in uniform. “Deserters from Nynus’s army. We also have wanderers who fell foul of Brutan, and fled his clutches. Even farmers from Ritherlee have made their way here, after being brought to ruin by Lord Vicerin’s cruel taxes.”
Leom spread his arms wide to take in the entire chamber.
“Refugees all. Wretched folk with nowhere to go. Nowhere but the Fortress of the Flown.”
Tarlan scanned the crowd. There were children here, he saw. Toddlers clinging to their mothers’ knees, babies staring blankly into the night. Nearby, two boys huddled miserably together, returning Tarlan’s gaze. They looked identical; Tarlan supposed they were twins. The hands of both were badly burned.
Don’t think about them, he told himself. This has nothing to do with you.
“The first tunnels were cut here at the start of the Thousand Year War,” Leom went on. “Since then, the Fortress has continued to grow. It appears on no maps; ask anyone about it and they will deny its existence. Yet exist it does—a secret haven to which the lost make their way, and where they find the safety they seek.”
“But they look so sad.”
“They want to go home,” said Leom simply. “Life here is hard. Food is scarce in the mountains, and the winters are long and harsh. But as long as war rages in Toronia, they have nowhere else to go.” He hesitated. “Like you.”
Tarlan glared at him. “I’m not like them! I didn’t run away.”
Leom nodded. The small, calm smile on his face was infuriating.
“I played my part!” Tarlan continued. “I fought. I won a battle! I just . . . I just suddenly realized how pointless it all was.”
“Sometimes we have no choice but to run away.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you! I didn’t run away, I chose to leave! I didn’t . . .”
Tarlan broke off. His chest was heaving. The dull ache in his head had turned to a sharp, insistent pain.
This is the trouble with humans! They make everything so complicated!
“I didn’t run away,” he repeated.
“I never said you did,” Leom replied.
Tarlan spun away, feeling the heat of anger rising in his cheeks.
If only Theeta were here. She’d carry me out of this place.
Or would she? Hadn’t she abandoned him too?
Wrong future. Wrong past. Wrong now. Place wrong. Tarlan wrong.
He pinched his eyes shut. Theeta had never said such a thing before. He thought about Melchior, how the wizard had pleaded with him to stay. He thought about Filos and Greythorn and Brock.
He realized that the heat in his cheeks wasn’t anger at all.
It was shame.
“You said you’d show me the way out,” he said dully.
“It’s across the square,” said Leom. “But, Tarlan, where will you go?”
“I don’t know. I just know I don’t belong here.”
“There is nothing out there.”
Tarlan rounded on him. “Are you going to show me or not?”
“This way.”
He followed Leom as he trudged through the crowds of people to a narrow passage on the other side of the square. All the way there, Tarlan kept his eyes averted from the curious gazes of the inhabitants of the Fortress of the Flown.
The passage was short and dark. At the far end was a stout wooden door.
“Here,” said Leom, lifting aside the heavy bar of timber that had been dropped across the frame. “This door will take you out onto the mountainside, not far from where I found you. From there you can . . . go wherever you please.”
“There were stones,” said Tarlan. “Standing stones, like claws sticking out of the ground. Are they far?”
“The Snowspires? They are just a short walk downslope, but the way is treacherous. Why do you want to go there?”
“What’s that got—” Tarlan began angrily, then cut himself short. Leom had done so much for him, not just here in the mountains, but back in Yalasti, all those years ago. He’d kept his promise to show Tarlan the way out.
No, it wasn’t Leom who Tarlan was angry with. He was angry with himself.
“I saw something,” he said, “on top of one of the spires. Thorrods. I think they were my friends.”
Leom rubbed his grizzled chin. “Thorrods, you say. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I mean, I think so.”
“How many did you see?”
“I’m not sure. Two, I think.”
“And you wish to see them again?”
“Yes. I have to. If only to say good-bye.”
Leom nodded. He grasped the latch and pulled open the door. Outside, snow-covered slopes rose steeply toward a line of jagged mountains gnawing at the night sky. Bitter wind blasted their faces and rocked Tarlan back on his heels.
“As I said,” Leom shouted over the howl of the gale, “the way is treacherous! I will lead you.”
“Thank you,” Tarlan replied. “I can find my own way after that. It’s like I said . . .”
“I know. You travel alone.”
They stepped out into the snow. The door slammed shut behind them. The night air was filled with freezing splinters of ice.
Tarlan welcomed the cold seeping into his bones, the frost already forming on his clothes and hair. But being back outdoors didn’t bring the relief he’d hoped for. He felt strangely empty.
“What you find may not be what you expect,” Leom said with the trace of a smile.
“What? What do you mean?”
“When we get there, you will see. Come.”
Leom plodded down the slope, sinking almost up to his knees in the deep, drifted snow.
Tarlan watched him for a moment, puzzled. Then he followed.
CHAPTER 7
The bakaliss lunged at Gulph. He threw himself across the crystal platform, leaving the giant serpent’s teeth to snap shut on empty air. Cheated of its prize, the bakaliss threw back its head and roared.
All around Gulph, people were screaming. Those nearest the bakaliss took to their heels and ran. Soon the panic had engulfed the crowd and hundreds of Celestians began to flee.
To Gulph’s relief, Pip and Sidebottom John had ushered the rest of his friends toward the shelter of the house. Ossilius and Kalia had their swords raised to fend off the approaching guards, but at the sight of their mistress’s transformation, the Celestian soldiers had taken to their heels.
Scales scraped on the crystal ground. Having recovered from its lunge, the bakaliss was now sliding toward Gulph. He tried to move his feet, but they were rooted to the platform. He was transfixed by the empty gaze of the bakaliss’s huge, blank eyes.
It’s the legend! Terror was welling up inside him. The king went under the mountain to slay the bakaliss. But the bakaliss ate him instead!
“Gulph!” shouted Kalia. “Look out!”
Gulph snapped awake, reminding himself that this was no story. It was time for him to face reality. It was time for him to fight.
&
nbsp; “You might have won in the legend!” he yelled through his fear. “But you’re not going to win today!”
The bakaliss thrust its gaping jaws forward with blinding speed. Gulph jumped straight up, somersaulting over its snout and off the platform. He landed beside Kalia, who brandished the blade of her crystal sword at the onrushing monster.
“Run, Gulph!” she shouted.
“Never!” he replied.
The bakaliss lunged off the platform, and suddenly Captain Ossilius was there, slicing at the serpent’s exposed throat. The bakaliss retreated, hissing and spitting. Hot yellow saliva splashed across Gulph’s face. He wiped it away in disgust and fumbled for his sword, then remembered it wasn’t there. He’d left it in Idilliam, thrust into his undead father.
Moving with astonishing speed, the bakaliss circled behind Kalia and Ossilius. The orange quills sprouting from its neck rattled along the hard ground. Its tail whipped against a pair of crystal statues, which fell and shattered. It plowed through what was left of the crowd, knocking people aside. But its eyes were fixed on Gulph.
It’s only interested in me!
Kalia struck out again. This time her blade hit home, burying itself in one of the monster’s muscular coils. With a yell of triumph, she jerked it free. Scarlet blood jetted into the air, and Gulph’s hopes rose. But then the creature’s huge scales closed over the wound, sealing it shut. Recovering from her swing, Kalia stood utterly exposed, easy prey for the oncoming beast.
Ossilius ran immediately to her side, but the bakaliss ignored them both and continued its advance on Gulph.
“Get everyone to safety!” Gulph screamed. “I know what to do!”
He backed away from the oncoming monster, preparing to summon his powers of invisibility. They’d helped him before, when he’d faced the bakaliss in the lake.
But before he could manage it, the bakaliss was on him again. It whipped its spiked tail around, clearly intending to sweep Gulph’s legs from under him. Marshaling all his strength, he executed a perfect back flip that took him out of reach of the spikes . . . and toward the bakaliss’s jaws. Acting on pure instinct, Gulph ducked and rolled. Ruby teeth crashed together, slicing through the straps of his pack.
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