A Kingdom Rises

by J. D. Rinehart

  Relief washed over Lady Darrand’s phantom face. “Thank you, my queen. Now, if you will excuse me, we must set up camp. And you should go inside. They are waiting.”

  The rest of the nobles followed her down the steps. As they joined the ghost army assembled on the lawn, Elodie imagined a flurry of sand blowing across them all. The night air rippled, like the air that hangs over desert dunes, then settled.

  “Where did they go?” said Tarlan.

  “Nowhere,” Elodie replied, gazing at the army that now only she could see. “They’re still there.”

  “It’s sort of funny seeing invisibility from the other side,” mused Gulph.

  “Well, are we going in?” said Tarlan. He exchanged a mischievous grin with his brother.

  Elodie poked his ribs. “What are you two laughing at?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that there’s someone waiting to see you,” Tarlan said.

  “Who? How do you know that?”

  “You’ll find out,” Gulph teased.

  “You’re insufferable!”

  • • •

  It was gloomy inside the hall. The high ceiling was full of jagged cracks and gashes, but all they could see through the holes were the smashed rafters of what had once been the roof. Thick rugs squelched under their feet, and the wooden floor beneath them creaked. The whole place stank of smoke.

  “There’s light ahead,” said Tarlan.

  Sure enough, through a doorway at the end of a short corridor sprang a flicker of orange firelight. Elodie, remembering the layout of the castle from her last visit here, decided it must be coming from the banqueting hall.

  “Is it safe?” said Gulph.

  “Lady Darrand said it was,” Elodie replied.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” put in Tarlan.

  As soon as they entered the banqueting hall, Elodie’s nostrils were assaulted by the delicious aroma of roasting meat. Her eyes found its source immediately: A wild boar had been skewered on a spit and was turning slowly in the room’s enormous stone hearth.

  A handful of people were busy tending to the boar, while dozens more sat in the many chairs that were scattered around the hall. Some were eating and drinking; others were repairing weapons or mending clothes; all were talking. The hubbub was overwhelming.

  As soon as the triplets entered, the banqueting hall fell silent but for the crackle of the flames. A giant-sized man with thick red hair turned to face the newcomers. A massive hammer swung from his heavy leather belt.

  “These are the people of Deep Poynt,” Tarlan said. He was about to say more when the big man stepped aside, revealing a wizened figure in a tattered yellow robe. Elodie recognized him at once.

  “Melchior!”

  She hurried across the floor to greet him, scarcely able to believe it was him. She wanted to shout for joy, but she contented herself with simply getting to him as quickly as she could.

  A few paces short of where the wizard stood, Elodie halted and stared into his watery old eyes. She hadn’t seen Melchior since he’d set out with Tarlan on his quest to regain his magic. So much had happened since then. She hadn’t even had a chance to ask her brother if the quest had succeeded.

  Should you hug a wizard? she wondered, feeling small and insignificant beneath his ancient, inscrutable gaze. Deciding it didn’t matter, she hugged him anyway.

  “Hello, Elodie,” said Melchior, returning her embrace. Looking past her, he added, “Hello, Tarlan. And you must be Gulph.”

  Elodie stood back, but still couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wizard. Nor, it seemed, could he stop looking at her and her brothers.

  “This day,” he said. “This day . . . I have waited for it, oh, for the longest time. For long years my faith faded and I believed it would never come. But here it is, and here you are. The three of you, together again. The stars still shine. The prophecy still holds.”

  Was he crying? Or were his eyes just twinkling in the light of the fire?

  “Melchior . . . ,” Elodie began. The wizard silenced her with an upraised finger and a twitch of his mouth that may or may not have been a smile.

  “I am not really the one you wish to see.”

  “You’re not?” Elodie wiped her cheek and found it wet.

  Melchior moved aside. Behind him stood a slender woman with red-gold hair. One side of her face was twisted by an old burn scar. Despite it—even partly because of it—she was very beautiful.

  If Elodie had thought about it, she’d have said all the surprises were done with. Her brothers. Then Melchior. And now . . .

  Mother! My mother! That’s my mother!

  Kalia’s arms wrapped themselves around her. Elodie had no idea how she’d reached them. Perhaps she’d floated into their embrace. She couldn’t speak for sobbing, couldn’t think past the soaring, roaring thunder in her head.

  Our mother!

  “Elodie! Elodie! Oh, Elodie!” When she wasn’t speaking her name, Kalia was smothering her face with kisses. “Oh, here you are, my beautiful daughter! Here you are at last!”

  Touching her was like coming home.

  “Thank you,” Kalia was saying, speaking now to the watching wizard. “Thank you, Melchior, for saving my babies. For saving me. Thank you for watching over us all. We owe you everything. Everything.”

  Elodie had no idea if he replied. She was only aware of her mother, her brothers. She was lost in her family, and found at last.

  • • •

  A little while later, Elodie was seated at a table near the fire, with Gulph and Kalia to her left, Tarlan and Melchior to her right. Cedric and Sylva sat opposite. In the middle of the table was a mountain of steaming boar meat, which the Deep Poynt giant—whom Melchior had introduced as The Hammer—was serving onto a set of fine china plates.

  “We found them in one of the pantries,” The Hammer explained, handing round the plates in his ham-sized fist with surprising delicacy. “Everything smashed but these.”

  “I’m sure Lady Darrand wouldn’t mind us using them,” said Elodie.

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted the little girl Tarlan had already identified as Lady Darrand’s daughter, Sorelle. She was playing in the corner of the banqueting hall with a gang of scruffy-looking Deep Poynt children.

  Poor thing, Elodie thought as Sorelle giggled at some joke one of the other girls had made. I know what it’s like not to have a mother.

  “So is it true?” Tarlan was asking Gulph. “This lost realm—whatever it’s called—has been buried for a thousand years?”

  Elodie watched, amused, as Tarlan stuffed a huge wedge of meat into his mouth. There was no doubting which of the three of them had been raised in the wild.

  “It’s called Celestis, and yes, it’s true.” Gulph had just finished relating the story of his adventures in the underground realm but seemed happy to give his brother a summary. “It’s made of crystal—an amazing place. Dark, but very beautiful.”

  Melchior was shaking his head. “It is incredible. Celestis did indeed vanish one thousand years ago, when King Warryck murdered Gryndor and two of his companion wizards. The magical forces unleashed by their deaths opened up a chasm beneath the crystal city, and Celestis fell into the earth. Everyone thought it had been buried forever. Yet now the lost realm has been found.”

  “What about its people?” Elodie asked.

  “They’re on our side,” said Gulph firmly. “They’re waiting for me in Idilliam. They’ll help us when the time comes.”

  “It is help we need, no mistake about that,” rumbled The Hammer, filling his mouth with a handful of meat that made Tarlan’s portion look tiny. “Those Galadronians with their burning arrows and their war machines—if they take the rest of Toronia the way they took Deep Poynt . . .” He shook his shaggy head.

  “Nor must we forget Lord Vicerin’s army,” Melchior pointed out. “It would not do to ignore his—”

  “Lord Vicerin is dead,” said Elodie. “I killed him.”

  A hu
sh descended on the banqueting hall. The people at the surrounding tables stopped eating and listened with avid interest as Elodie explained how she’d raised her army of ghosts from the swamp and driven back the last of the Vicerin forces.

  “I lost my sword, but I had another weapon. An arrowhead. I stuck it into his . . .” She caught sight of Sylva’s anguished face. “He’s dead.”

  Her mother’s hand stole across the tabletop and gripped hers.

  “You were brave, my dear,” Kalia said. “You did what you had to do.”

  The Hammer thumped the table.

  “It is very well!” he boomed. “Vicerin dead? His army scattered? Now there is nothing to stop us from taking his castle. There is no better fortress in Ritherlee. Once we have established our base there, we can—”

  “No,” Gulph interrupted. “We can’t do that. The Galadronians are already there.”

  The Hammer’s face fell. “Do you mean . . . ?”

  “They’re occupying the castle. And their army is bigger than any of us thought. They have strange weapons.”

  “He’s right,” Tarlan agreed.

  “No army is unbeatable,” said The Hammer, but his voice was full of doubt.

  “This one might be,” said Gulph glumly.

  The silence dragged out. At last, able to stand it no longer, Elodie turned to the wizard.

  “Tell us, Melchior,” she said. “What must we do?”

  The wizard’s brow furrowed. He ran his hand through his beard and looked at Kalia. Kalia nodded.

  “It is your battle.” Melchior’s gaze took in first Elodie, then Tarlan, then Gulph. His voice sounded very old. “You must decide.”

  I knew you were going to say that.

  No longer hungry, Elodie threw herself back in her chair and folded her arms. She was fascinated to see Tarlan and Gulph do exactly the same thing, at exactly the same time.

  Think, Elodie! Think!

  She stared into the fire, but the flames were distracting. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift. It’s time to go to war. But how can we stand against an enemy like this? She thought about the battles she’d been in, beginning with her very first taste of fighting, when a group of Isurians had blocked the path of the Trident army as they marched through their village.

  That wasn’t really a fight, more like a standoff. The Battle of the Bridge—now that was a fight.

  She shivered as she remembered the titanic clash on the Idilliam Bridge, the soldiers of Trident beaten back by Brutan’s undead warriors. It was only the intervention of Sir Jaken and her first ghost army that had saved the day.

  My first real battle, she thought, and a trace of the red mist crept into the darkness behind her closed eyelids.

  After the battle, Trident had retreated into the Isurian forest. But the period of rest had been short-lived, thanks to the Vicerins.

  Thanks to Stown’s treachery.

  Thanks to . . .

  “. . . the ambush.”

  “What, Elodie? What did you say?” Gulph asked.

  “Huh?” Elodie opened her eyes. She wasn’t aware she’d spoken aloud.

  “What did you say?” Gulph repeated. He and Tarlan were looking earnestly at her.

  “After the Battle of the Bridge, we were ambushed,” she said slowly. “The Vicerins took us completely by surprise.”

  “Go on,” said Melchior.

  Elodie frowned. “Surprise. That’s the key. When you’re outnumbered, it’s the only advantage you’ve got.”

  “But if the Galadronian army is as big as you say . . .” The Hammer began.

  “That’s just it. It’s not about how many soldiers they’ve got. It’s about what they’re expecting.”

  “What do you believe they are expecting, Elodie?” said Kalia.

  “Just what any invading force would expect: resistance.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sylva. Seated beside her, Cedric shared her puzzled expression.

  “Think about it.” Elodie was sitting upright now, talking fast. “We have to assume that Hypiro wants to rule Toronia. To do that she has to take Idilliam. But instead of making her way straight there, she’s sent her army to Ritherlee. Why?”

  “It’s one of the three realms of Toronia,” said Tarlan. “If she wants to rule the whole kingdom, she’ll have to take Ritherlee sooner or later.”

  “Four realms,” put in Gulph. “Don’t forget Celestis.”

  “Never mind how many realms there are,” said Elodie with a wave of her hand. “Think about what the Galadronians are doing.”

  Tarlan was nodding and smiling. “They’re building a nest.”

  “Exactly! Before marching on Idilliam, they want to establish a base. Why? Because they know the Toronians are going to put up a fight!”

  The Hammer grunted. “You spoke of surprising the enemy, yet you tell us they already expect attack by a Toronian army. You have returned the argument to where it began.”

  “No, I haven’t!” Elodie stood. “We’re not going to send an army against them! We’re going to send three!”

  • • •

  Under Elodie’s direction, the mountain of meat was cleared away. Grabbing a brass candlestick from the shelf over the hearth, she planted it in the middle of the now-empty table.

  “Castle Vicerin,” she said.

  She brought a basket of fruit from one of the other tables and arranged several dozen grapes in a wedge-shape, the sharp end pointing directly at the candlestick.

  “Our human soldiers,” she explained. “That’s you and your people, Hammer. Also the Vicerins you met up with along the way, Gulph. And the people from the hall here. Anyone and everyone who can carry a weapon and is ready to fight.”

  “The people of Deep Poynt will not let you down.” The Hammer’s eyes glinted with excitement. “Just give me your orders.”

  “Gulph will do that. He’ll be in charge of this main force.” She raised a silent eyebrow at her brother and was pleased to see him nod agreement.

  “That’s one army,” said Tarlan. “What about the others?”

  Elodie scooped up a handful of dried dates from the basket. These she scattered to the right of the candlestick.

  “My ghosts. I’ll be waiting with them in the swamp. We’ll hold back until Gulph’s army has engaged the enemy. Then we’ll attack. That’s surprise number one.”

  “What’s the second surprise?” The grin on Tarlan’s face told Elodie that he already knew the answer. By way of reply, she laid out a carpet of red berries to the left of the candlestick.

  “You, Tarlan. Your pack, and all the animals you can rouse between now and the time we attack. You’ll come out of the woods to the west. It’s the last thing they’ll be expecting.”

  She stood back, satisfied. The candlestick representing Castle Vicerin was surrounded. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out and tipped it on its side. It hit the tabletop with a loud clang.

  “This might work,” said The Hammer with slow deliberation.

  “It will work,” Tarlan corrected him.

  “Of course it will,” Gulph agreed. “Elodie thought of it.”

  Kalia rose from her chair and circled the table, appraising her daughter’s strategy. “It is a good plan,” she said. “But we cannot afford to underestimate Hypiro’s powers.”

  “Kalia is right,” said Melchior gravely. “The Sandspear is a fearsome weapon—one of the greatest relics from the ancient world. Every time we bring down one of her warriors, the Witch-Empress will cause another to rise up. We will not just be fighting one army. We will be fighting a hundred.”

  “If that’s true”—Cedric briefly touched the fallen candlestick—“attacking their soldiers will only buy us time.”

  “You speak the truth,” Kalia said, nodding. “The only way to defeat Hypiro is to destroy the Sandspear.”

  The Hammer thumped the table. The candlestick bounced off the table, rolled across the floor, and landed in the fire. A ragged cheer rose up as the fl
ames licked around its metal curves.

  “Then destroy it we will!” roared The Hammer. “Together we will grind these Galadronians into this good Toronian soil! Then, when we have wiped them from our boots, the triplets will have the crown!”

  More cheers. Fists pumped the air. The children who’d been playing leaped up and down, adding their small voices to the din. Elodie felt elated but also fearful. There was so much at stake . . . and so little room for error. She saw her warring emotions reflected in the faces of her brothers, and was glad they shared her feelings.

  Now it was Melchior’s turn to stand. Raising his arms, he calmed the uproar.

  “The Sandspear is not our only problem.”

  “It isn’t?” said Elodie uncertainly.

  “Alas, no. Have you forgotten about your jewels?”

  Elodie clutched instinctively at her throat. Beside her, Tarlan and Gulph did the same.

  “Lord Vicerin! Mine and Tarlan’s are still hanging round his neck. Gulph, have you . . . ?”

  His face solemn, Gulph parted the collar of his tunic to reveal a gold chain. Hanging on the chain was a bright green gem.

  At least one of them is safe, thought Elodie in relief.

  “The jewels are important,” Melchior said, “although I know not why. Gryndor wrote of them. He gave me his scrolls for safekeeping, shortly before the crystal city was buried. It was Gryndor who wrote the words of the prophecy, yet even he was not clear about what purpose the three jewels serve.”

  “There’s a room,” said Gulph. “A sort of throne room. It’s in Celestis, out on the lake. Its walls are covered with jewels just like this one.”

  “Then it’s obvious,” said Tarlan. “That’s where we have to take our jewels.”

  “Well, we can’t do that until we’ve got them all back,” said Elodie, rising to her feet once more.

  Kalia clasped her wrist. “Elodie—you cannot go back to find Lord Vicerin’s body. The castle will be swarming with Galadronians. It will not be safe.”

  “I know. But I’ve got the perfect person for the job.”

  • • •

  Elodie awoke to the sound of whinnying horses and clashing metal. She yawned and stretched—after all the excitement of the previous night she hadn’t expected to sleep at all. Rousing herself from the bed she’d made in the corner of the banqueting hall, she made her way to Castle Darrand’s main entrance.