The dead could be destroyed.
Of course, so could the living.
“Enough of this play!” Brutan thundered. “Now fight!”
He swung his sword. Elodie brought up her own blade in time to parry the blow. The two weapons locked with a dull clanging sound, and then the mace was coming down again. Elodie whirled, lifting her sword over her head in time to block what would otherwise have been a killing blow. Brutan grunted as she slipped beneath his arm and spun to face him again, breathless and alert.
“Take care, Elodie!” Fessan shouted from where he was watching on the staircase.
“Remember what I taught you!” Palenie cried.
The crystal serpent shrieked.
Then came Mirith’s voice. It sounded very close.
“Remember the prophecy!”
Brutan feinted with the mace, then came in low with his sword. Anticipating his move, Elodie wasn’t fooled. She swiped his sword aside with her own, her shining blade eclipsing his shadowy weapon with its brightness. Again they parted, and the circling resumed.
I can keep him at bay. But can I defeat him?
Yet again Brutan struck out with the mace. This latest attack took Elodie by surprise, and she found herself tottering backward toward the staircase, but not before she’d whipped her sword round and straight through Brutan’s wrist, sending his hand and the sword it carried flying away.
Howling, Brutan continued running with his mace held high, smoke spewing from the stump of his arm.
“Look out, Elodie!” Fessan and Palenie shouted in unison.
Gasping for breath, Elodie dodged aside. Brutan barreled past her and slammed straight into Mirith, who was standing at the very front of the watching crowd. Wrapping his crippled arm around her neck, he lifted her clean off the ground. He whirled to face Elodie, the frost witch held in front of him like a shield.
“Now!” he bellowed. “Strike me if you dare!”
Elodie passed her sword anxiously from her right hand to her left, then back again. Brutan leered and clamped his forearm more tightly around Mirith’s throat. Smoke continued to spurt from the stump where his hand had been.
I can’t kill him without killing her!
“Do what you must do!” Mirith croaked, forcing the words out through her crushed windpipe. “Forget about me!”
“You heard her!” roared Brutan. He ran toward Elodie, Mirith dangling like a doll in his grip. The mace tore streamers of gray vapor from the fog-shrouded ground.
At the last moment, Elodie sidestepped. As Brutan lumbered past, she brought her sword round, praying that her aim was true.
It was.
Instead of striking Mirith, the shining blade sliced into Brutan’s thigh. Gold sparks flew, and the shadows surrounding her father’s body seemed to flinch momentarily. With an agonized roar, Brutan flung out his arms, dropping Mirith even as he recovered his balance.
“You dare to strike me?” he thundered. “You dare?!”
Off-balance herself, Elodie darted aside, narrowly avoiding a potentially lethal blow from Brutan’s mace. But her feet slipped from under her—or maybe it was the fog tripping her up—and she sprawled backward. Her sword flew from her grasp. The instant it left her hand, its light went out. It fell into the mist and was gone.
Gripping the mace tightly, Brutan loomed over her. The fog condensed around him, a cloak of shadows as dark as her own skin of fire was bright.
“Elodie!” screamed Palenie.
Her scream broke off. The silence was immediately filled by a shriek from above.
The wyvern!
It dropped out of the sky like a stone. An avalanche of green crystal coils fell upon Brutan, knocking the mace out of his grasp and hurling him forward. He landed on his knees right in front of Elodie, a look of utter shock on his broad, bearded face. Their eyes met.
“Now, Elodie!” Mirith cried, picking herself up from where she’d fallen. “The jewel! The prophecy!”
Green crystal flashed as the wyvern encircled Elodie and Brutan with its coils. It bared its ruby teeth and hissed but kept its distance.
I have done what I can, it seemed to be saying. Now it is up to you.
Snarling, Brutan drew a long knife from beneath his smoke-rimmed robes.
Green crystal! Elodie thought.
Her hand went to her throat.
Finally she understood.
“They shall kill the cursed king,” she said. They faced each other, both on their knees, father and daughter, while the fog of the dead boiled around them. “That’s what the prophecy says. Not he. Not she. But they.”
Brutan’s face contorted with rage. He no longer looked like a man, nor even a bear. He looked like a monster from Elodie’s darkest nightmares.
“You died twice,” Elodie went on. Her body blazed with golden fire. “First Gulph killed you. Then Tarlan. Now I’m here.”
“Not for long!” Brutan screamed. He drew back the knife.
“Three deaths! That’s what the prophecy means!”
She closed her shining fingers around the green jewel that was hanging around her neck. She tugged. The chain snapped. The jewel was cold, its tip sharp.
“Three deaths for the crown of three!”
Elodie plunged the jewel into her father’s chest.
The shadows shrouding Brutan vanished. His cloak of fog evaporated. Suddenly exposed, he looked oddly small.
“What . . . ?” he croaked. He pressed his one remaining hand to his chest.
Brutan collapsed onto his side. His skin turned gray. So did his once-magnificent robes. Something was flying from him—a breath or a shadow, Elodie couldn’t tell. The grayness folded over him, softened him. He grew smaller still. The remains of the fog drew him down, reducing him to a rag of a man. Then the rag disappeared, and only the mist remained, thinning until it was barely visible, almost gone . . . and then vanished.
He’s dead. Really dead.
The wyvern’s coils parted to reveal Elodie’s friends. She saw broad smiles and heard applause. All the crowd was clapping and cheering. The faces of the dead were filled with joy. As Elodie staggered toward them, many sank to their knees and bowed their heads.
“All hail!” cried someone, and the others took up the chant. “All hail! All hail!”
Elodie stumbled, almost falling before Fessan and Palenie managed to steady her. As soon as she was standing again, they too fell to their knees. Behind them, Mirith did likewise.
“No,” said Elodie, “you don’t have to . . .”
“Yes, we do,” Fessan replied.
Bowing its massive head, the wyvern let out a long series of guttural rumbles. It was purring again.
The fog cleared, revealing Elodie’s sword. Fighting back tears, she picked it up off the ground.
“Command us!” someone called. “Whatever you ask of us, we will answer!”
Elodie hefted the sword. She felt both exhausted and wholly alive.
“Soon!” she shouted. “I will have something to ask of you very soon. If I call you forth, will you fight for me?”
“YES!” thundered the gathered dead.
“You are our queen,” said Fessan when the tumult had died down. “We will do anything for you.”
“You have destroyed Brutan forever,” Mirith added. Her eyes shone.
Elodie could hardly believe it. “Where will you all go, now that he’s gone?”
“Go?” said Palenie. “Why would we go anywhere?”
Elodie looked around. With the Shadow Cage gone, all that remained were the steps and the floating slabs. All remained gray in the Realm of the Dead.
“It’s just so dark here,” she said.
“Yes, indeed.” Mirith smiled warmly. “Which is why we need a little light.”
Understanding at last, Elodie held up her sword. Its golden light flared, brighter than the sun, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Squinting through half-closed eyelids, Elodie watched in wonder as the light expanded o
utward. The sword’s glow swelled, turning the slabs to vast floating shards of multicolored crystal. They were as dazzling as the original stones had been dull.
The light continued to spread. Elodie began to see flower-filled meadows, high towers connected by soaring walkways, rivers of silver, and fountains of gold. The sky turned a dazzling turquoise, the color of no sky she had ever seen before. It was beautiful.
“Peace has returned to the Realm of the Dead,” said Mirith. She was fading. Everything was fading. “For that we thank you, Queen Elodie. May the shadow never return.”
Elodie reached out her hand to touch Mirith’s, but saw that her own flesh was turning transparent too.
“Elodie?” called Palenie, seemingly from very far away. Her voice was like a thread floating in the air. “Do you have to go?”
Elodie wanted to respond, but the words choked in her throat. By the time she could speak, the Realm of the Dead had disappeared behind a veil of golden light. Wind picked her up, carrying her high and then letting her fall, fall, fall . . . .
• • •
Darkness. The only movement was something brushing against her face—a strand of her own hair. It was only dark because her eyes were closed.
She heard voices. Something was sticking into her back. She was lying on something prickly. A pile of sticks? The air was damp, filled with a faintly noxious smell.
The swamp! I’m back!
She tried to move. Exhausted from her duel with Brutan, she felt every muscle in her body protesting. She gave up. Even opening her eyes was too much effort.
She concentrated on the voices instead.
“. . . gathered here together,” someone was saying. Cedric? Sylva? She was so woozy she couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.
“We will never forget the sadness of this day,” the voice went on. It sounded familiar.
Horribly familiar.
“This is the day we bid farewell to our queen. Such a sadness, to see a life snuffed out so young.”
Lord Vicerin!
The realization split her heart like a dagger. What was he doing here in the swamp?
“Such a sadness,” Vicerin repeated, “that we must stand here today to mourn the passing of our dear Elodie, whom once I was proud to treat as my daughter, and whom I now must remember as my poor, lost queen.”
Shocked into action, Elodie opened her eyes. She wasn’t in the swamp at all, but lying on a great mound of branches in a smoke-blackened courtyard. Foul-smelling steam rose on all sides, the aftermath of the fires that had been set around the castle, and which were now extinguished. A small group of people were gathered nearby. Lord Vicerin stood at their head.
But Elodie had no time for her sworn enemy. She was more concerned by the man standing beside her. The man who was lowering a blazing torch toward the branches on which she lay.
It’s a funeral pyre!
The torch touched the branches beneath her head, and flames erupted all around her.
ACT TWO
CHAPTER 12
The flames licked against Elodie’s skin. A horrid stench drifted past her nostrils—her own hair, starting to singe. Filled with sudden terror, she sprang to her feet and leaped off the pyre. She landed awkwardly, but Samial was there, reaching out to steady her fall.
“Elodie, are you . . . ?” he began.
His voice was immediately drowned as screams echoed round the courtyard. The mourners who’d gathered for Elodie’s funeral were backing away, their faces drawn down in fear.
Smoke billowed past Elodie’s face. She looked wildly around. Clouds of steam were rising from the damped-down ruins of burning buildings, while beyond the courtyard walls the sounds of battle continued, even louder than they had been when Elodie and her friends had left the castle. Fire spurted from most of the windows in the twin south towers.
Castle Vicerin was overrun.
Soft footsteps were padding toward Elodie. Whirling, she saw Lord Vicerin bearing down on her. His skin had lost its usual coating of powder, and looked pink and pockmarked. His teeth were bared. To Elodie’s satisfaction, she saw that his nose, which she’d kicked and broken during Fessan’s execution, was crooked.
“Back, foul spawn of the swamp!” Vicerin shouted. He held up his shield, cowering behind it as he continued to advance.
More screams rose up from the crowd. Faces curled up in fear. Several onlookers backed away.
“Go back to the land of death!” Lord Vicerin yelled. But once he was close to Elodie, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Your magic tricks don’t scare me, treacherous girl. You will burn today. And I will keep your crown.”
Elodie saw that he was indeed wearing a crown—a delicate silver circlet studded with tiny diamonds—and equally ornate armor she’d only seen him wear on ceremonial occasions. Blue sashes swung from the breastplate. The polished metal gleamed in the firelight.
But what really caught Elodie’s attention was the pair of jewels swinging on gold chains around Lord Vicerin’s neck.
Green jewels.
Mine! And Tarlan’s!
Vicerin’s armored boots squelched in the muddy ground as he turned to the astonished onlookers. The flames crackled louder, taking hold of the pyre’s inner core. Elodie could feel the heat baking the side of her face.
“Undead!” shrieked Vicerin. “This is not Elodie, but some malevolent demon returned from the Realm of the Dead! It must be burned! Guards!”
Four uniformed men barged through the crowd. To Elodie’s dismay, one of them was Stown.
Three of the guards fanned out, leaving Stown to march straight up to Elodie, the tip of his sword aimed at her throat.
“I have seen the undead,” he murmured. “You don’t look like one of them to me—which will make burning you all the sweeter.”
He forced her toward the pyre. The heat flared against her back. Smoke wrapped around her, as if eager to pull her in.
Burned to death! This is how my mother died. Am I to go the same way?
The muddy ribbons of her tattered wedding dress caught at her feet. She tugged angrily at the folds of the ridiculous garment. The silky material felt heavy, as if there were something caught inside . . . .
There is something inside!
Her heart hammering, Elodie plunged her hand into the pocket hidden inside the skirt. She fumbled briefly, and then her fingers folded around a small cluster of objects beside Samial’s arrowhead: a coin, a scrap of silk, a necklace, a ring.
“Why are you smiling, little girl?” growled Stown.
Elodie tightened her grip on the talismans.
Sand and heat rushed through her, that warm, gritty magic that still felt so peculiar. Stown felt it too—she saw it in his sudden stumble, his look of confusion.
“Come to me!” she shouted. “Stand by me now!”
Figures stepped out of the flames. At first they seemed made of fire, then their bodies darkened, became like smoke. They glided out into the courtyard with phantom swords drawn. A dozen vengeful ghosts. The murdered nobles of Ritherlee.
The crowd retreated with a chorus of shrieks and wails.
“It’s Lady Darrand!” cried one of the courtiers, dropping to his knees in the mud.
“And there’s Lord Winterborne!” The woman who’d sobbed this was tearing at her hair. “But he’s dead! They’re all dead!”
The panic spread to the guards, who broke and ran.
Stown stood frozen to the spot.
“If you don’t drop your sword,” Elodie told him, “my friends will kill you.” Then she added, “My dead friends.”
Stown held her gaze for a moment, then dropped his sword and blundered past Vicerin, who was himself edging slowly away from the spot where Elodie was standing.
“She is a witch!” Vicerin shouted, his voice wavering.
Elodie strode away from the pyre. “Is it witch? Or is it undead demon? You really should make up your mind.”
Lady Darrand slipped up to her. Her star
e was fixed on Lord Vicerin. Her ghostly armor seemed to soak up the light from the fire and hold it, so that she glowed from within. Vicerin gaped at her shimmering form, his mouth flapping like a stranded fish.
“Would you like me to take care of him?” Lady Darrand asked Elodie, drawing her sword.
“Just don’t let him get away,” Elodie answered.
With a fierce grin, Lady Darrand advanced.
Even as the rest of the ghostly nobles cornered the fleeing guards, a small group of Vicerin officers rushed into the courtyard.
“Turn and face them, you cowards,” one of the officers cried.
Their faces white with terror, the guards turned. At once ghostly swords began to slice the air with an eerie swishing sound. Trembling and pale, most of the Vicerin troops stood unresisting as the phantom blades cut them down.
“My horse! My horse!”
The shouts came from Lord Vicerin. Retreating, he’d managed to reach the long row of stables at the end of the courtyard. There, a pair of terrified grooms held a sleek white stallion.
The jewels!
Picking up her skirts, Elodie raced after him. Lady Darrand ran with her, but as they neared the stables, a wooden gate exploded into a shower of splinters. Smoke gushed through the opening, followed by five Helkrags mounted on armored elks. The men’s faces were hidden beneath their tooth-lined fur hoods, and their leather armor was barbed with cruel iron hooks.
“Run on, Elodie!” Lady Darrand cried. “I will try to hold them!”
Lady Darrand slashed at the forelegs of the nearest elk. The bones snapped like twigs and the huge beast hit the ground, throwing its rider and bellowing in pain.
Elodie ran on. Already grooms were hoisting Lord Vicerin into the saddle. A single slap on the horse’s flank sent it galloping toward a narrow gate half-hidden between two of the stable blocks.
I won’t let you get away!
Vicerin had just reached the gate when a horseman appeared out of the smoke.
“. . . not much time . . . ,” Elodie heard him shout to Vicerin. “. . . soon be upon us . . .”
She strained her ears to hear more, but the words were lost in the uproar. Having heard the message, Vicerin angrily spurred his stallion through the gate.
A Kingdom Rises Page 12
