“We’re glad you came,” cried one of the dogs.
“All these humans do is sit around,” yapped another. “We want a proper walk!”
“Easy, easy!” Tarlan laughed. One dog climbed on the back of its neighbor and launched itself at Tarlan’s face. In midair, it extended its tongue and gave him a wet, slobbering lick on the nose.
The crowd erupted into laughter.
“Down,” Tarlan said, sending out calming thoughts to the mountain of dogs. They settled at once, planting themselves at his feet with their muzzles raised attentively and their tails beating the ground in excitement.
“A few days ago, I turned my back on destiny,” Tarlan told the crowd. “That’s how I ended up here. But since I’ve been here, I’ve learned something. However far you run, fate always catches you in the end.”
He scanned the sea of upturned faces, confident at last that they believed what he had to say.
“So here’s my question,” he went on. “Are you going to keep running? Or are you going to follow me and fight for what is yours?”
The crowd roared. The dogs at Tarlan’s feet lifted their muzzles to the sky and howled. Tarlan tossed back his long red-gold hair and howled too.
Above him, still brilliant in the morning sky, the three prophecy stars blazed.
• • •
The sun was barely halfway to noon when Tarlan and Leom stood once more at the end of the exit passage. Tarlan now wore a mantle of heavy fur over his tattered black cloak, and on his back he carried a large pack filled with food and water.
“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Leom asked. “The people are ready to follow you. Your speech inspired them”—he shook his head—“like nothing I have ever seen before.”
“I’m sure,” said Tarlan firmly. Though he had no definite plan, of this he was certain. “An army marches slowly, and I’ve got to get to Elodie as quickly as I can.” He hesitated. “You could come with me.”
Leom raised a grizzled eyebrow. “Me? Why?”
Tarlan shuffled his feet awkwardly in the snow. “I don’t know. You could help me watch out for Kalldrags. Keep me on the path.”
“You do not need me for that, Tarlan. You can look after yourself.”
Hiding his disappointment, Tarlan tried to tell himself that Leom was just a man he’d stumbled over in the wilderness.
But he was much more than that.
“Besides,” Leom went on, “you need someone to turn this rabble into a real fighting force.”
Tarlan looked at him, taken aback. “Really?”
Leom clapped Tarlan’s shoulder. “Go and do what you must do. The next time we meet, your army will be waiting.”
Tarlan grinned his gratitude. “I believe you.”
Slapping his back a second time, Leom sent him on his way down the slope toward the narrow path that would lead him back to Toronia. Tarlan looked back over his shoulder once to see him hunched against the wind, his hand raised in salute. Then the rocks closed around him and he was alone once more.
I’m not alone as long as they’re shining, he thought, gazing up at the prophecy stars. They were burning so brightly now that he suspected even the full midday sun wouldn’t be enough to banish them from the heavens.
Three stars. Gulph’s alive—he must be!
He reached the crest of a high ridge and found himself looking over the rolling foothills of the Icy Wastes. Far ahead, the land flattened into a vast rocky plain. The horizon was shrouded by low gray cloud. Beyond it lay the three realms of Isur, Idilliam, and Ritherlee.
Toronia.
His destiny.
Something moved in the sky.
The wyverns?
Tarlan narrowed his eyes against the blue glare. He saw wings beating out a slow, steady rhythm. Large wings. The high sun flashed on their golden tips.
Gold!
Tarlan started running down the slope. His face stretched wide in a joyful smile. He waved his arms. He laughed.
“Theeta! Theeta—I’m here!”
CHAPTER 11
Elodie swung her sword of light at the portcullis. The glowing blade sliced effortlessly through the barrier. Lines of smoke twisted skyward like black silk scarves and vanished.
Swinging her sword back and forth, Elodie advanced one ferocious step at a time. The red mist of battle rage hovered at the edges of her vision. Gradually she understood what had given the Shadow Cage its name. This was no castle, but a dense mesh of black bars crisscrossing through space, close enough together that the whole structure seemed solid—at least until someone took it apart.
With each stroke of Elodie’s blazing sword, another set of bars flew aside. Between each row, dozens of prisoners were huddled, ragged robes hanging limply from their thin, translucent bodies. As she cut her way past them, their gray, downcast faces lit up with hope.
“Run!” Elodie cried. “There’s someone outside who will help you!”
Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that Mirith was already beckoning to the first wave of escapees. As soon as they reached her, the frost witch had them line up on the smoky staircase, making room for more to emerge.
There was no sign of the wyvern.
Turning back, Elodie brandished her sword again . . . then stopped.
Right in front of her, behind the nearest set of bars, stood a man. He was tall, dressed in green. Despite the scar running down the side of his face, he was handsome.
Beside the man was a girl just a few years older than Elodie. Her hair was red, her face alight with joy.
The red mist faded. Elodie’s lungs felt flat, her limbs weak. The sword hung limp in her hands.
“Fessan,” she whispered, staring at the man. She turned tear-filled eyes to the girl. “Palenie.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” said Palenie, smiling. Palenie, Elodie’s friend from her earliest days in Trident. Palenie, who’d taught her how to fight. Palenie, who’d believed in her even though she’d been such a spoiled brat.
Palenie, who had been murdered in Elodie’s place.
Elodie touched the tip of her sword to the bars that lay between them. The smoke disintegrated.
Palenie threw her arms around Elodie. Her touch was strangely soft, strangely cold, and entirely welcome. Elodie returned the embrace. The urge to cry was overwhelming. She didn’t fight it.
“You can’t be here!” Palenie was sobbing. “You can’t be dead!”
“I’m not . . . ,” Elodie began.
“If you’re dead, the prophecy’s dead!”
“She is not dead,” said Fessan in wonder. “Are you, Elodie?”
Stepping back, Palenie looked her friend up and down, her jaw sagging open.
“You’re glowing, Elodie! How are you doing that?”
“My powers, I think.” Elodie smiled through her tears. Trust Palenie to get straight to the point! “I’m sorry. Both of you—I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
“You just did,” Fessan replied softly.
Elodie wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
Her heart was full, her head was spinning. Now that she’d found Fessan and Palenie, all she wanted to do was grab their hands and lead them far, far away. But she still had a job to do.
“You’re not safe yet,” she said. “I’ve got to defeat Brutan first.”
She started swinging her sword again. Left, right, left, right, deeper into the Shadow Cage. Each stroke cut a swath through the forest of smoke, releasing another cluster of prisoners.
“You’ve been practicing,” said Palenie proudly.
“Go outside,” Elodie gasped. She hadn’t realized her friends were following her. “There’s a woman. A witch. Her name is Mirith. She’ll—”
“We are coming with you,” said Fessan. “Whether you like it or not.”
Elodie regarded them both. Her throat was tight.
“I like it,” she said.
As they penetrated deeper into the Shadow Cage, the bars of smo
ke drew closer together. They were following a sort of spiral, Elodie realized, the bars tightening gradually toward a knot of blackness at the very center of the prison. Soon only a few layers of smoke lay between her sword and this dark core. One after the other she cut them aside, and the last remaining prisoners made good their escape.
Fessan circled the floating ball of tangled shadows. “The heart of the Shadow Cage,” he said. To Elodie, it looked like a nest woven by some huge, unimaginable bird.
“Who’s inside it?” wondered Palenie.
Elodie licked her lips. The glowing sword suddenly felt very heavy. So did the jewel around her neck. The golden fire, covering her body like a second skin, flickered fiercely.
“Kalia?” she called, her voice quavering. “Mother? Are you in there?”
There was no reply. Yet Elodie was sure she was right. Her mother had lied to Brutan, entrusting her three babies to the care of Melchior rather than let him murder them. And Brutan had killed her for her treachery. Where else would her mother be now, if not in the darkest corner of the prison he’d built for his dead enemies?
“We are with you, Elodie,” said Fessan. “Whoever—or whatever—may lie within.”
Elodie drew back her sword, preparing to make the almighty swing she would surely need to breach this final obstacle. Then she stopped herself. The battle rage had faded from her vision. She didn’t need it anymore, she realized. Here, in the Realm of the Dead, all she needed was the magic she’d brought.
All she needed was herself.
With trembling hands, she brought the sword gently forward until the edge of its blade kissed the wall of black smoke.
The smoke tore itself apart. There was a faint popping sound, and then the last remaining piece of the Shadow Cage evaporated like morning mist. Nothing of Brutan’s prison remained now but the floor—a swirling gray blanket of fog that lapped against Elodie’s feet.
Three people stood before them: a heavy-set man with a close-cropped beard, a tall woman with a haughty expression, and a skinny boy perhaps the same age as Palenie. All wore splendid robes. All wore simple silver crowns. All had the same wavering, soft-edged look as the rest of the dead.
Elodie didn’t recognize a single one of them. But of one thing she was certain.
My mother is not here.
The boy stumbled forward and embraced Elodie clumsily. She was too shocked to fend him off.
“Thank you!” he cried. “You freed us! Thank you! Thank you!”
His face was thin and his hair was long and matted. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.
“Nynus!” Fessan exclaimed. “It’s Prince Nynus! I recognize him from when I was at court with my father.” He pointed at the two adults. “Queen Magritt. And King Morlon. I remember them all!”
Freeing herself from Nynus’s clinging hands, Elodie studied the people she’d released. She knew the names, but there the familiarity ended. It was like meeting characters from a story she’d heard as a child.
Morlon, my father’s brother, who he murdered to take the crown.
Magritt, my father’s queen.
Nynus, her son. My half brother.
As Nynus retreated, biting his nails, Magritt curled her lip and glared.
“Who,” said Magritt in a slow, deliberate tone, “are you?”
Her dim wraith’s eyes flashed with sudden gold—a reflection of Elodie’s glowing skin of light.
“My name is Elodie. I am sister to Tarlan, sister to Gulph”—at the sound of Gulph’s name, Magritt flinched—“and I am one of three. I come here from Toronia to right the wrongs my father has done.”
Morlon dropped to one knee. To Elodie’s astonishment, he removed his silver crown and bowed his head.
“I have been here too many years,” he whispered. His voice was like soft wind through reeds. He lifted his eyes to Elodie’s. “And I know my brother will be coming for you. You must leave us. Leave us and run.”
Hiding behind his mother’s translucent skirts, Nynus wailed, “Don’t let the sword-girl get me! I didn’t mean to hurt Gulph. I don’t want to be punished!”
Elodie pointed her sword at the cowering boy. At once Nynus fell silent. Magritt’s face was stony, showing neither fear of Elodie nor concern for her son.
“You took the crown when it wasn’t yours,” Elodie said. “You killed Melchior’s apprentice, Limmoni. You destroyed the bridge, and sent hundreds plunging to their deaths. You should be punished.” She took a deep breath. “But that’s not why I’m here. I promised to free the dead from Brutan’s tyranny. All of them. That includes you. Now follow me!”
With Morlon, Magritt, and Nynus trailing behind, Elodie and her friends retraced their steps through the Shadow Cage . . . except there was no cage. Thanks to Elodie, the spiral of shadowy cells had been utterly destroyed. All that remained was an undulating blanket of fog through which they ran all the way to the smoky staircase.
“Hurry,” said Palenie. “Remember what Morlon said—Brutan will be coming.”
As they approached the freed prisoners thronging the stairs, the wyvern swooped low over Elodie’s head. Its shrieks cut through her like blades of ice.
Something like a wave moved through the fog, then another. Elodie stopped. Not noticing, Fessan and Palenie ran on, urging the three former prisoners ahead of them. The fog rippled again. Strings of gray vapor lapped around Elodie’s knees.
She turned.
The strands of fog were knitting together. Fingers of mist rose up and closed around each other, making a kind of ghostly fist as big as a man. Elodie watched with mounting dread as the fist became a man—a hulking bear of a figure with heavy arms and a thick beard. Red robes hung from his massive shoulders. On his head he wore a gold crown.
The man was Brutan. Her father. Twice dead, now standing before her, no longer the rotting corpse she’d seen during the Battle of the Bridge, but the vivid lifelike soul of an actual man.
Elodie’s whole body was shaking. She tried to tell herself that this hideous, death-defying monster was not really her father . . . except she knew that Brutan had been a monster in life as well. Now here he was, standing before her eyes for the very first time, the beast that had killed her mother.
“Who dares to challenge my rule?” Brutan bellowed. From the scabbard hanging at his waist he drew an enormous broadsword. Its blade was the same flat gray as the fog.
The wyvern looped over Elodie’s head again, filling the echoless air with its shrieks.
“I am Elodie!” she cried, raising her own sword. It was as bright as Brutan’s was dull. “Your daughter!”
Brutan took a startled step backward.
“Daughter?” he spat. “Yes, you do look like your mother. How fitting, for I will kill you, too.”
Growling deep in his throat, he displayed his teeth in what might have been a grin or a grimace. The fog clung to him as he advanced, as if reluctant to let him go. In some way she didn’t understand, Elodie realized her father was the fog.
That’s how he was able to take over every corner of the Realm of the Dead. He’s everywhere!
“Elodie!” Fessan called. “Wait—I’m coming!”
“Stay back!” Elodie shouted over her shoulder. “All of you, stay back!”
“We can help!” cried Palenie.
“No, you can’t!”
Nobody here has the power to resist Brutan. The dead can’t defeat him.
She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword.
But I’m not dead!
Brutan took three more paces toward her. The fog spread behind him like a comet’s tail.
“One of my three,” he boomed. “I remember the first—the scrawny cripple. He poisoned me, but that was not enough to keep me down.”
“Don’t talk about my brother like that!”
“I remember the agony of dying, daughter. But what I prefer to remember is the moment I rose again. To be undead is to be free! Invincible!”
“If you’re so
invincible, what are you doing here?”
Brutan’s face darkened with fury. “Your brother—your other brother, the filthy one who rides that bird—cast me into the fire! I knew agony again, a thousand times worse than the first time!”
Elodie’s mind was racing. Tarlan had killed him again?
Grinning, Brutan spread his arms. “My treacherous son thought I was gone. Yet here I am still!”
He reached into the fog that was swirling around his feet. When his hand came up, it was holding something that looked like a club made of gray smoke. The smoke became solid—or as close to solid as anything was in this nebulous realm—and Elodie saw that it was a gigantic mace, with a long shaft and a huge spiked ball at the end.
With his broadsword in one hand and the mace in the other, Brutan rushed toward her.
Hands shaking, Elodie continued to hold out her own sword. It looked puny against the brutal weapons of her father.
But it’s made of light, and his are only shadows!
Yet she was afraid.
Already Brutan was on her, lunging with his sword. Elodie sidestepped and the blade missed her waist by a whisker. In the same instant, he swung the mace round in a wide arc, aiming the cruel spiked ball at her head.
Elodie twisted and ducked. Off-balance, she fell to her knees in the fog. The misty vapor sucked at her, trying to pull her down.
He’s everywhere, she thought in revulsion, and scrambled to her feet again.
“Your brothers could not defeat me!” Brutan roared. “And neither can you!”
The mace came round again. This time Elodie avoided it with ease. It was a terrifying weapon but slow. All she had to do was keep moving. But she was already gasping for breath.
How long can I keep this up?
“Twice killed!” Brutan growled, circling her now as he looked for an opening. “And still not enough. What makes you think you can do better?”
Elodie turned slowly, tracking him with her glowing sword held out at arm’s length. Something was scratching at her mind, something Mirith had said. What was it?
“Hurt them enough and their spirits will be gone forever.”
Mirith had been talking about Brutan torturing his prisoners. But her words had held a hidden truth.
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