What did that man tell him? she wondered. Whatever it was, it had been urgent enough to convince Vicerin to abandon the battle.
Elodie sped in pursuit, but she slipped and fell headlong into the mud. She tried to stand, only to find a length of rope had tangled round her ankles. She yanked at it, watching in desperation as Lord Vicerin and the other horseman disappeared.
“Elodie!” Samial reached down, helping her untangle the rope. Tired and bedraggled, Elodie heaved herself to her feet. Her mud-caked dress felt as if it weighed more than she did. She scanned the courtyard.
The funeral pyre was well and truly ablaze, flames belching thick smoke high into the morning sky. Only one of the elk-hunters lay dead—the one felled by Lady Darrand. The others were circling, their axes finding fresh victims with every stroke.
“It’s time to go,” Elodie said. A dreadful thought stopped her cold. “But, Samial, where are Sylva and Cedric?”
Samial’s brow furrowed. “We thought you were dead,” he said apologetically. “You fell in the swamp. They got you out, but your body was cold. The rest of the ghosts had vanished. I couldn’t do anything.” He held up his smoke-thin hands helplessly. “Then Vicerin came with his men. They brought you here.”
“Where are Sylva and Cedric?” Elodie repeated. Her throat felt tight.
Samial shook his head in sorrow. “Vicerin had them locked up. They are in the castle. Somewhere.”
Elodie’s mouth set in a grim line. “Then we will free them.”
Lady Darrand ran up to them. “Vicerin got away,” she said. “I’m sorry, Elodie.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Elodie replied. “Anyway, forget about him. He’s not important.”
“If I thought you believed that . . .”
“Vicerin will get what’s coming to him soon enough. Right now we have more important things to worry about.” Samial and Lady Darrand listened attentively, waiting for her command. “First we need reinforcements so we can take down these Helkrags quickly. And then we’re going to find Cedric and Sylva.”
Leaving Lady Darrand to round up the other ghosts, Elodie crept to the shadows near the stable gate. The smoke was thicker here, and provided excellent cover. She watched with her heart in her mouth as Lady Darrand returned leading a line of phantom soldiers through the fighting toward her. At once the Helkrags left off attacking what was left of the crowd and turned to face them.
Within moments, the ghosts were gathered around Elodie, their faces drawn with whatever passed for fatigue in their phantom plane of existence. The Helkrags were prowling to and fro, but seemed reluctant to attack this strange new enemy without provocation.
“What is your plan, Your Highness?” Lord Winterborne asked gravely.
“We’re going back to the swamp,” Elodie answered.
Lady Darrand’s eyes grew wide. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
Elodie wiped the mud from her face.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go and raise an army.”
CHAPTER 13
Theeta swooped in from the ice-blue sky. Beneath her, the bright sun made a thorrod-shaped shadow that rippled over the snow toward Tarlan. Her wings shone.
Tarlan shrugged off the heavy furs that Captain Leom had given him. He didn’t need them anymore. His battered old cloak was more than enough. Besides, seeing his oldest friend filled him with a warmth that even the bitterest wind couldn’t chill.
As Theeta drew near, he was surprised to see she was carrying two riders. Could one of them be Melchior? Tarlan couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone other than the wizard to ride on her back.
Theeta landed in a flurry of snow. She dipped her head and tilted her wing, allowing her passengers to climb down. Tarlan looked on dumbfounded as a skinny boy about his age sprang nimbly to the ground before helping down his companion: a woman whose face was scarred on one side by a terrible burn.
Tarlan stared at the newcomers.
They stared back.
A sudden gust of wind sent the woman’s long hair streaming out in a red-gold pennant. Tarlan’s hair did the same. The boy’s hair was shorter, but flashed that same familiar color as it was ruffled by the breeze.
“Gulph,” said Tarlan. It was little more than a whisper.
The boy, whose back was oddly twisted, gave him a tentative smile.
“Tarlan,” he answered. Like his brother, all he could manage was a croak.
“I saw you,” Tarlan went on, his voice gathering strength. “In Idilliam. In the battle. But when I looked for you again, my father was—”
“Our father.”
“Our father.” Tarlan shook his head, struggling to comprehend it. “You’re here. You’re alive.”
He didn’t trust himself to say any more. A pressure was building inside him, as if his whole beating heart were trying to climb into his mouth. The woman was gazing at him through the veil of red-gold hair that was dancing in front of her face. Her eyes were wet with tears.
I’ve never seen you before, Tarlan thought.
Yet, somehow, he knew exactly who she was.
“Mother,” he said.
Saying the word released the pressure, and suddenly he was running toward them, crying out and flinging his arms wide. Gulph and Kalia came forward in their turn, and the three of them met in the snow in a knot of laughter and tears. Tarlan hugged them, and they hugged him back. Never had he felt such warmth, such acceptance, such a sure and breathtaking sense of coming home.
Never had he felt such love.
“You’re alive!” Tarlan said again, laughing as he tousled Gulph’s hair. His brother was shorter and thinner than he was, and the odd kink in his back made him shorter still. But looking at his face was almost like looking in a mirror.
“I am!” Gulph’s grin was enormous.
Before Tarlan could speak again, Kalia clutched him to her.
“My boy!” she sobbed. “My dear, dear boy!”
Tarlan touched his fingers gently to the scar on her face. “What happened to you, Mother? Elodie said that Brutan had you executed, burned alive . . . .”
Kalia’s tear-filled eyes widened. “Elodie? You have seen her? Spoken to her?”
“Is she all right?” Gulph demanded. “Where is she?”
“She’s alive. We were together, in the Trident camp with Melchior. She was . . . we were . . .” Tarlan’s tongue tangled in his mouth. There was so much to tell. Where in all of Toronia should he begin?
His mother saw his confusion. “My Elodie is alive,” Kalia said. “That is all I need to know. The rest of the story can come later. For now”—she pressed her hands against Tarlan’s cheeks—“it is enough that we are together.”
Something hard pressed against the small of Tarlan’s back: Theeta’s beak. Wiping his tears aside, he turned to face his thorrod friend.
“Brother mother.” Theeta arched her neck and preened, clearly pleased with herself. “Thorrod bring.”
“Yes. You brought them.” Tarlan touched the palm of his hand to the sharp tip of her beak, then rubbed his forehead against its cool curve. “Thank you, Theeta.”
“Together now. Together right. Together strong.”
“I know. That’s what you were trying to tell me all along, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Theeta. I was stupid. I should have listened to you.”
Theeta planted her huge claws wide in the snow and glared down at him with her bright black eyes.
“Together fight.”
Tarlan became aware that Kalia and Gulph were both staring at him. His mother’s face was flushed with pride, but when his brother spoke, his voice was filled with pure amazement.
“You’re talking to it! You’re talking to the thorrod!”
“Theeta,” said Tarlan. “Her name is Theeta.”
“But it’s . . . you mean you can . . . ?”
Tarlan grinned. “I talk to animals. It’s sort of what I do. Theeta’s my closest friend from my pack.”
“You have a . . . pac
k?”
“Yes.” Tarlan ran his fingers affectionately through Theeta’s ruff. “But I saw what you can do, Gulph—turning invisible on the battlefield like that. Now, that’s an impressive trick.”
“It’s got me out of a few scrapes.”
“I’ll bet.”
Tarlan could hardly take his eyes off his brother. But thinking about his pack had reawoken his desire to return to Toronia.
“Come on,” he said, adjusting his cloak and springing onto Theeta’s back. “If we make good time, you’ll meet the rest of my pack before the sun goes down. Then we can rescue Elodie.”
“Rescue?” said Kalia as he helped her up.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Gulph, joining them. “Who’s holding her prisoner?”
So, as Theeta’s enormous wings carried them aloft, Tarlan began telling his tale, starting with his suspicion that Elodie was now a captive at Castle Vicerin and then jumping all the way back to the beginning, to that fateful moment in Yalasti when Mirith had first sent him on his quest to find Melchior.
“So Elodie can summon ghosts,” mused Kalia as Tarlan described the time he’d spent with his sister in the Trident camp.
“We all have powers,” Tarlan agreed.
I don’t think I’ve ever talked as much, he thought. It’s as if everything has been building up to this moment. Just a few days ago I thought it was all coming to an end. Now it feels like it’s just beginning.
When at last he’d finished telling his story, his mother and brother related their own adventures, which seemed even more astonishing to Tarlan than his own. Frequently during the flight he allowed his eyes to stray up to the sky, where the three prophecy stars blazed with newfound fury in the blue brightness.
We’re all still alive, he thought in wonder. Soon they would all be together—and the battle for Toronia would begin.
• • •
By the time they reached Deep Poynt, the sun was sinking toward the western horizon. The forest canopy rolled beneath them like a thick green blanket. The air of Isur was warm after the cold of the Icy Wastes. Yet Tarlan felt suddenly chilled.
Anything could be hiding down there, he thought, regarding the trees uncertainly.
“So you won the battle here?” said Gulph. He was leaning forward, thin hands bunched in Theeta’s ruff, eyes squinting as he peered into the growing gloom.
“Yes,” Tarlan replied. “It was hard, but we beat back the Galadronians. When I left Melchior, he was helping The Hammer rebuild the . . .”
His voice trailed away. They were flying over the hill on which Deep Poynt stood . . . or rather, had once been standing. Now all that remained of the fortress town was a mass of rubble and fallen roof beams. Smoke rose listlessly from the wreckage. There was no sign of life.
Deep Poynt had been destroyed.
“Where’s Melchior?” said Tarlan.
Where’s my pack?
“Kitheen here!” cawed Theeta, suddenly wheeling around to the right.
“What did she say?” said Kalia.
Tarlan scanned the sky, which was now the color of blood. Eventually he spotted a bright flash as the feathers of a second thorrod caught the dying light of the sun. The giant bird swooped down, its glossy black body a stark contrast to the vivid gold of its wingtips.
“Kitheen!” Tarlan called as the youngest of the thorrods drew into formation beside them. “What happened here?”
For a moment he wasn’t sure that his winged friend would reply. It was hard enough to get Kitheen to speak at all, let alone at times of stress. To his surprise, the big black bird responded immediately.
“Tarlan go. Kitheen unhappy.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. But I’m back now. Tell me what happened to Deep Poynt.”
“Man flock. Kill nest.”
“An army? But who’s left to . . . ?” Tarlan looked around anxiously. “Where’s Melchior? Where’s the rest of my pack?”
“Wizard hide. Pack hide. Tree shelter.”
Tarlan sighed. “All right. So they’re safe. Now, tell me more about this army. Was it bigger than the first one? Bigger than the Galadronian invasion force?”
“More flock,” Kitheen confirmed. “Many human. Most human. All human.”
His gold wingtips flicked in agitation. Tarlan could only guess at what he was trying to say.
More humans than you’ve ever seen before? Is that it?
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
“What’s he saying?” said Gulph, tugging at Tarlan’s cloak.
Tarlan translated as best he could.
“Can you lead us to Melchior?” he asked Kitheen.
The thorrod dived toward the trees, clearly more comfortable with action than words. Tarlan jabbed his heels into Theeta’s flanks, urging her to follow. The two birds landed simultaneously at the forest’s edge.
“Filos!” Tarlan called, leaping to the ground. “Greythorn! Brock!”
For a moment nothing happened. Then the trees began to shake. A bear emerged, then another, followed by a flood of creatures small and large, from foxes and snakes to horses and deer. The ground shook as they made their way out of the shadows, a vast army of animals whose eager eyes gleamed in the fading light of the sun.
“Is this your pack?” said Gulph. “It’s so . . . big.”
Tarlan sank to his knees before the assembled animals.
“I abandoned you, and I’m sorry . . . ,” he began, but that was all he said before a blur of blue-and-white fur knocked him sideways.
“Filos!” Tarlan laughed, fussing at the tigron’s striped mane. “Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Filos replied.
Close behind her came Greythorn and Brock, both of whom treated Tarlan to a series of slobbery licks.
“I am glad you came back,” said the wolf.
“Can Brock fight again now?” growled the bear.
“Soon,” Tarlan promised. “But before that, I want you to meet the two newest members of our pack.”
The eyes of his friends—and of every animal present—turned to Gulph and Kalia, both of whom were watching apprehensively from their perch on Theeta’s back.
Tarlan spread out his arms.
“This is Gulph, my brother. And Kalia, my mother. I want you to give them your warmest welcome.”
“Welcome!” roared Filos.
The rest of the animals joined in, filling the evening air with a deafening chorus of growls, grunts, shrieks, squeals, hisses, and howls. Looking dumbfounded, Gulph lowered himself from Theeta’s back. Kalia followed, her eyes shining with pride.
When the noise had died away, Gulph took a nervous step forward.
“It’s, er, good to meet you all,” he said. He whispered to Tarlan, “Can they understand me?”
Tarlan laughed. “Not really. But I think they know what you’re trying to say.”
He glanced round to see Kalia inspecting the coarse meadow grass. She scooped up something and sprinkled it into his hand.
“Sand?” He stared in puzzlement at the tiny yellow grains.
“It is everywhere,” Kalia replied, dusting her palms together. “I know much about sand. Its presence here concerns me.”
Tarlan frowned. During the flight, he and Gulph had talked about their powers. Tarlan had been fascinated to discover that, for both of them, their magic was somehow bound up with the idea of a desert. Kalia had listened with interest, but so far she had offered no thoughts of her own on the subject.
“Theeta and I flew through a sandstorm on our way to the mountains,” Tarlan said. “It blew out of nowhere, and vanished just as quickly. It was really odd.”
Kalia’s eyebrows shot up. “A sandstorm? In the snow? I think—”
She was cut off by the howls of a group of wolves at the edge of the pack. Tarlan whirled round.
Warning cries!
Soldiers were running down the hill toward them. They wore colorful robes and carried vic
ious-looking curved swords. Their battle cries were nearly loud enough to drown out the baying of the wolves.
“Big flock!” squawked Kitheen, taking to the air.
“Galadronians!” Tarlan shouted.
They were hiding in the ruins!
Already the Galadronians were upon them. Swords slashed into a pack of foxes, sending small bodies flying through the air. Horses reared, whinnying in alarm. Even in the chaos, however, Tarlan was relieved to see the enemy numbered no more than thirty.
“They’re just stragglers!” he roared. “Spread out! Draw them in!”
Pulling his sword from its scabbard, he led Filos, Greythorn, and Brock on a long, curving run that took them around the enemy’s rear flank. Gulph and Kalia followed, drawing the strange crystal blades Gulph had spoken of.
The Galadronians continued to drive their way deeper into Tarlan’s pack, hacking on all sides with their cruel blades. Obeying Tarlan’s command, the animals spread apart, creating an open space into which their attackers poured.
By now Tarlan’s small band was directly behind the Galadronians.
“Stop!” Tarlan bellowed.
The huge pack of animals obeyed instantly. The Galadronians faltered, suddenly realizing they were surrounded by an impenetrable wall of fur, feather, and scale. Giving them no time to recover, Tarlan drove his small band into the one gap that had been left in the wall of bodies.
“Bring them down!” he yelled.
With Tarlan leading, the rest of the pack plunged into the fray, striking out with blade and claw alike. The Galadronians fought back with guts and determination, and for a while Tarlan was afraid the enemy was too strong. But Brock was stronger still—the bear dispatched a quarter of the Galadronians just on his own—while the teeth of Filos and Greythorn proved more than a match for the Galadronian armor.
Tarlan fought hard, and was pleased to see his mother match him blow for blow.
I am my mother’s son, he thought with pride.
Kalia moved fast, her crystal sword a constant blur. On the rare occasions her blade wasn’t fast enough, her hand slipped inside her cloak and tossed out a spray of colored powder, which flashed into flame, lighting up the dusk and throwing the enemy into confusion.
A Kingdom Rises Page 13
