A thorrod skull, Elodie realized with a shudder.
Lying on their backs in the middle of the table, gagged and squirming against thick ropes, were Sylva and Cedric.
Lord Vicerin waved an arm toward them. “What is the meaning of this?” he cried in a high, nasal voice. His guards were clustered around him, swords drawn. “How dare you take what is mine? Release them to my custody at once!”
The Helkrag leader loped across the huge table. Adjusting his gruesome helmet, he glared down at Vicerin.
“These childs are prisoner!” he growled. His voice came from deep in his chest, and his accent was so thick that Elodie struggled to make out the words. “These childs are Helkrag to die!”
“Prisoners, yes. But they are my prisoners.” Lord Vicerin spoke slowly, as if to an infant. “You will return them at once!”
The Helkrag leader drew a long, serrated knife from beneath his leather armor. His companions laughed. “You promise childs. You not deliver. We need childs to make spirits happy and make Helkrag strongest. So we take these childs and we give them to spirits.”
“ ‘Give them to spirits’?” Vicerin repeated. The muscles in his cheeks were twitching. “What are you talking about?”
Elodie could feel the blood leaving her face. She had a horrible feeling she knew.
The Helkrag leader grinned, displaying a forest of black teeth. Holding the blade of his knife close to his throat, he drew it sharply sideways. At the same time he made a sharp hissing sound.
“The Helkrags are going to sacrifice them,” Elodie whispered. Her heart was racing.
Lord Vicerin put a hand to his chin. “I care little who you choose to kill. But every death comes with a price.”
“You not pay price,” the Helkrag snapped back.
“So you said. However, the situation is more complicated than you realize. We now have a mutual enemy. A phantom army that seeks to destroy us both. If we stand together, perhaps we can defeat it.”
“Helkrags strong!” The leader thumped his chest. His comrades copied him, the impacts making the teeth in their hoods rattle.
“So if I allow this execution, you will swear me your loyalty once again?”
His words chilled Elodie to the core. On the table, Cedric struggled frantically. Elodie could hear Sylva’s muffled sobs through the gag tied around her mouth.
“Helkrag make oath! Helkrag make fight!”
Vicerin sighed as if the whole affair had become suddenly tiresome. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a blue silk sash.
“Then make your sacrifice,” he said. “Kill them both.”
“NO!” Releasing all her pent-up energy, Elodie burst into the Star Chamber at a run. Close beside her were the ghosts.
As they raced toward the enormous table, Elodie was grimly pleased to see the looks of surprise on the faces of the Helkrags. Even more satisfying was the expression of utter shock that had transformed Lord Vicerin’s features into a pantomime mask.
“LET THEM GO!” Elodie screamed.
At the same time, she was calculating furiously. Helkrags and Vicerins combined numbered twenty. She was outnumbered, but she also had ghosts on her side.
We can take them!
Red mist clouded the edges of her vision. All thoughts ceased. Abandoning words, she let her scream become an animal cry of fury. She sprang up onto the table, bringing her sword round with all her strength. Its razor-sharp tip sliced through the bellies of two gawping Helkrags. Blood blossomed on their furs, and they rolled off the table like eight-pins.
To her left, Lord Winterborne had engaged two more Helkrags. He held his phantom sword in his right hand, thrusting and parrying with sharp, economical movements. His left hand was raised behind his head, the fingers delicately curled. The Helkrags tried to fight back, but they were slow and clumsy compared to the old but agile ghost. Within a few breaths they were lying dead on the table with their throats cut.
The three Helkrags who ran forward to avenge them died even more quickly than their comrades. Lord Winterborne, it seemed, was getting a taste for this.
As Elodie fought two more of the Helkrags, Lady Darrand cut her way through the enemy ranks to where Sylva and Cedric lay. Samial went with her, matching her swordplay blow for blow. When he reached the captives, he cut through their ropes with a single stroke.
“Run!” Lady Darrand told them. Without looking, she stabbed her sword backward and skewered a Helkrag who’d been rushing toward her. With his one hand, Cedric grabbed his sister and pulled her off the table and away from the fighting.
Something shrieked—a spine-chilling sound that came from directly overhead. Startled, the Helkrags looked up. Two of the noble ghosts were clinging to the ceiling like spiders. Their thin robes wafted around them like gossamer webs.
Still shrieking, the ghosts fell upon the enemy.
Elodie lowered her sword, panting for breath, and watched as her ghostly companions cut down the remaining Helkrags.
“Stop him!” shouted Lady Darrand. Elodie spun round to see the Helkrag leader making a run for the door.
“Here!” Lord Winterborne snatched up a fallen sword and tossed it to Cedric, who stood directly in the path of the fleeing elk-hunter.
Cedric caught the weapon—one-handed, naturally. Displaying remarkable calm, he waited until the Helkrag was almost upon him, then made a neat sidestep and plunged the sword into the enemy’s side. The big man fell, twitched once, then lay still in a steadily growing pool of blood.
“A fine stroke, my young lord,” cried the ghost, bowing his head.
Elodie leaped down from the table and pulled Cedric and Sylva into a fierce hug.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said, her words coming out choked.
Elodie wished she could keep hugging them forever. But there was work to be done. She whirled around, her vision still stained with the red of battle fury. Her sword twitched in her hand.
Apart from herself, Sylva, Cedric, and the ghosts, the Star Chamber was empty.
Lord Vicerin and his guards had disappeared.
“Where did he go?” she asked furiously.
“Nobody left through the main door,” Lord Winterborne replied. “I kept careful watch.”
“But that’s the only exit.”
“No,” said Cedric. “Look.”
He pointed to a tiny oblong of shadow on the far side of the circular chamber.
“A secret door!” breathed Sylva.
Elodie sprinted across the star-studded floor toward it.
“This way!” she shouted as she ran. “Let’s stop Vicerin once and for all!”
CHAPTER 15
Beyond the tiny doorway was a dark, cramped passage. Elodie led the way along it with her sword thrust forward and her free hand running along the clammy wall. The tunnel twisted several times before delivering them onto a narrow wooden walkway at the top of one of the castle’s exterior walls.
“We’re on the western battlements,” said Cedric, blinking as he emerged into the sunlight.
From this high vantage point they had a clear view across Castle Vicerin to the open farmland beyond. Many of the fires that had been raging in the castle were now out. The air, though still stained with smoke, was beginning to clear. Most of the inner courtyards were empty, and where Elodie could see Vicerin and Helkrag soldiers, they weren’t fighting.
They were running.
“The ghosts have done it,” she said. “We’ve won!”
But Lady Darrand shook her head. “I fear you speak too soon.”
She gestured to one of the nearby fields where a line of horsemen were gathering. Their blue sashes, though torn and muddied, marked them as Vicerins. Cantering up and down the front of the formation was a rider whose ceremonial silver armor flashed like a beacon in the midday sun. The visor on his blue-plumed helmet was down, ready for battle. But although his face was hidden, there was no mistaking him.
Elodie’s stomach plummeted. “So that’s where
Lord Vicerin went,” she said. “He’s going to try to retake the castle!”
Sylva was shaking her head in disbelief. “How did he get out there so quickly?”
“He is slippery,” said Lady Darrand. Her voice was uncharacteristically flat. “He always has been. That is why he always wins.”
“Not this time!” Elodie said fiercely. “Castle Vicerin is ours now and he’s not getting it back. Come on!”
She ran along the battlements toward a set of wooden stairs. Leaping down them two at a time, she planted her fingers in her mouth and whistled. All the ghosts within earshot looked up.
“Follow me!” she shouted as she reached ground level. “Bring horses!”
As Elodie raced toward the nearest gatehouse, Sylva and Cedric fell into step beside her. They arrived just ahead of a tidal wave of ghosts—all the spirits Elodie had summoned from the Forgotten Graveyard. Rank upon rank of phantom warriors were before her. The ghosts of the murdered nobles took their place among them. They knelt, and the army of ghosts followed suit. The sight made Elodie catch her breath.
“What is your command?” Lady Darrand asked.
“My command is simple,” Elodie replied. Her voice rang out, clear and strong. “Lord Vicerin is not yet vanquished. Lord Vicerin—the man who kept me prisoner. The man who stole children and used them as bait for a barbarian horde. The man who burned farmsteads and ravaged an entire realm.” She looked toward Sylva and Cedric. “Who murdered his wife and sold his own children into sacrifice.”
Cedric’s jaw was set. Sylva blinked back tears but held her gaze.
Elodie turned back toward the ghosts. “That man out there, who thinks he can take back this castle, put each and every one of you to death!” Her words cut through the air like a sword. “But all that ends here. Now. This is our chance, come at last. If we can defeat him on the battlefield today, it will all be over.”
She thrust her sword toward the sky. “Ride out with me now and justice will be done. Victory will be ours!”
A sound like rushing water passed through the assembly of ghosts. It wasn’t quite a roar, but a phantom version of one. It carried a strength that gave Elodie hope. This wasn’t an army of trained knights, like those she’d led against Brutan’s forces during the Battle of the Bridge. Mingled with the resurrected spirits of soldiers were those of farmers and tradespeople. Yet they were many and they’d already proved themselves in battle.
They’ll do it again!
Hooves clattered on the mud-slimed flagstones. The ghosts parted to reveal Samial bringing with him three magnificent horses. Elodie took the reins of the leading horse—a black mare with a long, shaggy mane—and sprang onto her back. She remembered seeing the mare in the Vicerin stables, her name painted on her stall: Valor.
“I can’t ride and fight like this,” said Cedric, holding up his one hand in disgust. “I’ll be better on foot.”
“I’ll ride for both of us,” said Sylva. She picked up a short sword from where it lay beside a fallen Vicerin guard and mounted a gray stallion.
“You don’t have to,” said Elodie, catching her hand. It was shaking, but Sylva’s gaze was steady.
“Yes,” Sylva replied at once. “I do.”
A great cry rose up from the field beyond the gatehouse. A moment later, it was joined by a rumbling noise that swelled like approaching thunder.
“Vicerin is charging!” Elodie cried. She raised her sword. “Follow me! To battle!”
She kicked her heels into the mare’s flanks and galloped beneath the stone archway and out onto the grass beyond. With an angry sighing sound, the ghost army swarmed out ahead of her.
At once, a sense of color overwhelmed her. Inside the castle, everything had been gray. Even the red stone of the walls had been dulled by the soot and smoke. As Valor carried her onto the field, her eyes were assailed by the vivid green of the grass, the yellow glare of the noon sun, the bright blue of the Vicerin sashes.
“Onward!” she yelled. “We fight for justice! We fight for Toronia!”
The Vicerin cavalry was already in full charge. But Elodie was surprised to see they were riding not toward the castle, but toward the fields in the north. Was the enemy trying to outflank them?
No sooner had she thought this than Vicerin—clearly identifiable in his shining armor—raised his arm and barked out a command. At once, the cavalry wheeled around and started charging straight at the leading ranks of the ghost army. Gathering speed, the swarm of ghosts plowed into the enemy. Gray figures flowed like liquid, toppling the horses and rolling over the top of the fallen riders in living waves.
Lord Vicerin held back, leaving his horsemen to engage Elodie’s troops. His white stallion was standing on a low, grassy mound, giving him a sweeping view of the battlefield.
“Let’s get him,” said Sylva. “You and me, together.”
“Hie!” Elodie urged her horse. She rode straight toward the line of fallen Vicerins, whose bodies made a seemingly impenetrable wall between her and her target. Sylva, riding close behind, echoed her cry.
Tightening her legs around the saddle, Elodie snapped the reins and urged yet more speed out of Valor. The wall of dead Vicerins approached at dizzying speed. At the last moment, the black mare leaped, seeming to fly over the bodies of the fallen before landing at a full gallop on the other side.
Now Elodie was bearing down on the cavalry’s second wave. She drew back her sword, but was forced to swerve sideways as Sylva cut across her path.
“Keep going!” Sylva shouted. She’d lost her sword, but the years she’d spent competing in the Ritherlee Horse Trials were clearly paying off as she kept her stallion weaving backward and forward through the Vicerin ranks, guiding him through intricate dodges and changes of course.
“Ride, Elodie!” she called. “I’ll keep them busy.”
Be careful, Sylva! Oh, be careful!
The red mist closed over Elodie’s vision. At the same time, the white horse on the grassy mound reared up. The decorative panels of his silver armor shimmered in the bright sunlight. The blue-plumed helmet turned, and suddenly Lord Vicerin was staring straight at her, his eyes glinting behind the visor that obscured his face.
As Vicerin’s sword came up, so Elodie’s came down. Hauling on the reins, she converted her horse’s forward motion into a fast turn, slashing her blade against her enemy’s suddenly exposed flank. But he was quick, and her sword met only thin air. As her horse came round, she lashed out again and made brief contact with his left elbow, a glancing blow that left him unhurt.
Now the two horses were dancing around each other while their riders struck and parried, each seeking a weakness in the other’s armor. Elodie could feel her body moving with a kind of animal certainty. She blocked every blow Vicerin made, and each time her own sword hit home, she felt a sense of growing excitement.
You taught me well, Palenie!
Yet, despite the accuracy of her blows, the cold metal of the Vicerin armor succeeded in repelling them all. Although the impacts must have been bruising, Lord Vicerin was holding up against the onslaught much better than he had any right to. Was there no way through that glossy metal shell?
“You were built for banquets!” she snarled as her blade struck sparks off the edge of his sword. “You’re no warrior!”
Vicerin said nothing, merely glared at her through the tiny slit of his visor.
Determined to get a reaction out of him, Elodie reined in her horse briefly before spurring her straight at Lord Vicerin’s. “How does it feel to be fighting your precious puppet? To be beaten by her? Because I will beat you!”
Valor’s shoulder slammed into the stallion’s hindquarters. The white horse reared, throwing its rider backward off the saddle. Valor’s front hooves slipped on the grass and suddenly Elodie was flying over the mare’s head. She landed on her chest, the hard curves of her breastplate digging painfully into her ribs.
Air shrieking from her crushed lungs, Elodie staggered to her feet just
in time to fend off a fresh blow from Vicerin, who was already on his feet. Knocked backward, she parried two more blows before noticing that his own breastplate had shifted sideways. Each time he took a step, the metal parted to reveal a pale blue undershirt.
A chink in his armor!
Remembering one of the earliest lessons Palenie had taught her, Elodie raised her sword high, clearly signaling an attempt to strike down on top of her opponent’s head. As he reacted, she shifted her body weight and reversed her hold on the hilt of her weapon. Now, instead of driving it down, she was thrusting it forward—aiming it at the crack in his armor, right over his heart.
The tip of her blade was a hand’s width from the gap when Vicerin’s sword swung down to block it. Unbalanced, still gasping for breath, Elodie sank to her knees, her sword flying from her hands. As she fell, Vicerin kicked the fallen weapon out of reach, then drove his foot into her ribs. Badly winded, Elodie instinctively rolled sideways—once, twice, hurling herself off the mound just as Vicerin’s sword impaled the spot where she’d been lying.
“Elodie . . .”
The voice was drowned by the clank of metal armor as Lord Vicerin strode down the mound toward her. He moved with a swagger she’d never seen in him before. Panicking, she scrabbled for her lost sword, but it was nowhere to be seen.
“You haven’t won yet!” she cried, staggering to her feet. Weaponless, she bunched her fists and held them up. Her knuckles were bloodied. Her ribs throbbed.
“Elodie . . .”
Samial?
He was running across the battlefield toward her. His hands were cupped around his ghostly mouth. He was shouting, but she could barely hear him over the sounds of battle.
“The arrowhead!” he was yelling. “. . . only chance . . .”
Lord Vicerin was five paces away. Four. He closed both hands on the hilt of his sword and drew back the blade.
A Kingdom Rises Page 15
