You whose crystal wings I freed. Come and join the ones you left behind.
A sigh floated through the throne room. Something that was both green and gray appeared, seeming to condense out of the empty air. The third wyvern.
Its wings were like shadows, and its eyes were like stars, and when it met its brothers, it opened its throat and screeched in sadness and joy.
Elodie closed her eyes. What was the name of the thorrod Tarlan had told her about? The one who’d been killed in Yalasti, and whose skull had been worn as a trophy by the leader of the Helkrags? For a moment she couldn’t remember. Then it came to her.
Seethan! Your friends are waiting for you. Come now!
He appeared suddenly, like a storm, scattering the enemy before him, a giant bird almost twice as big as Theeta, his feathers drifting like gray snow, his cries somehow faint and piercing, both at the same time. Seeing him, the other thorrods threw their wings high and bent their heads low, like servants greeting a king.
On the platform, Lord Vicerin cringed, looking small.
On Theeta’s back, Elodie saw, Tarlan was smiling with joy.
Now, Trident, she thought, and the desert wind blew hotter than a furnace. All of you who fell. All of you that I love. Palenie, come. Fessan, come. Come all of you, come now!
They came, a crop of shadows that formed itself instantly into an army and began carving its way through the enemy ranks. Once, their flags and tunics had been green. Now they were gray. And yet, somehow, nothing had changed.
“Elodie?”
It was just a whisper, but one that sent a tingle down Elodie’s spine. She turned, and there was Palenie, the girl who had once been mistaken for her, and died as a result. Palenie smiled. Elodie smiled back.
“The Realm of the Dead is a happy place now,” said Palenie. “Thanks to you, Elodie.”
“But we will always be happy to leave it too.” The second voice belonged to Fessan. Even in death, the scar on his face remained. Yet, even in death, he was handsome. “As long as it means serving you.”
“Yes,” Palenie agreed. “So, is there something we can do?”
Elodie drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
“There is,” she said. “Please, save my mother.”
Their bodies flowing like silk, Fessan and Palenie glided smoothly up the steps toward Kalia, joining Lady Vicerin as she advanced toward her promised revenge.
Spotting the oncoming ghosts, Lord Vicerin circled in front of Kalia. His eyes were wild and scared. He jabbed the Sandspear at Fessan. Arrows of sand flew from the end of the magical weapon. Fessan brushed them aside with his sword.
“You have no power over me now, Vicerin,” he said, laughing.
Meanwhile, Palenie had vanished, only to materialize behind the pillar to which Kalia was tied. She slashed at the ropes, freeing her in an instant. Hand in hand, they sprinted down the stairs to where Elodie was waiting, leaving Vicerin to battle with the ghosts of all the people he’d wronged.
“You’ve done well, my dear daughter,” said Kalia, holding Elodie close. “But you must not underestimate Vicerin. The Sandspear—he has barely scratched the surface of its power.”
“Well,” said Elodie, “a scratch is all he’s going to manage. As soon as Fessan gets hold of him . . .”
She trailed off. Kalia was shaking her head.
“Your ghosts will stem the tide,” she said, “but they cannot turn it. As long as Vicerin has the Sandspear, there is no army in the world that can stand against him.”
By now, Gulph had joined them. He reached out and squeezed Kalia’s hand. He was smiling, but his eyes looked tired and his body was tense.
“Then what can we do?” Elodie blurted. She looked in despair over the battle. The ghosts she’d summoned were indeed pushing the enemy back, and the presence of Seethan and the lost wyvern had shifted the balance of power in the air. Yet already Vicerin had conjured a whole new regiment of warriors to surround the thrones and protect him from Fessan and the other ghosts.
“You know what to do,” said Kalia.
“We do?” said Gulph.
Elodie glanced up to see Tarlan guiding Theeta down to the steps. He hopped lightly to the ground, leaving the thorrod back to continue the battle in the air. He gave their mother a brief, hard squeeze.
“You say we know what to do,” he said. “Well, what is it?”
“The Sandspear comes from Pharrah,” Kalia went on. She fixed her eyes first on Tarlan, then on Gulph. Finally her gaze settled on Elodie. “I come from Pharrah. And you . . .”
“Yes?” said Elodie.
“You came from me.”
Elodie rolled her tongue around her mouth. It felt hot, gritty.
“Desert magic,” Gulph murmured. “We have it in our blood. All of us. It’s ours to control, every time we use our powers.”
“That’s right.” Elodie stared at Gulph, at Tarlan, at Kalia. “It isn’t his magic—it’s ours!”
Elodie grabbed Gulph’s hand. He grabbed Tarlan’s. The triplets stood united on the steps, as the battle raged above them and below.
“There’s only one of him,” she said. “But the crown is for three!”
CHAPTER 25
Gulph felt heat bubbling from Elodie’s fingers. Tarlan’s hand was burning hot. It was as if his brother and sister had turned to fire. The flames were inside him, too.
Gulph started to climb, and the others followed.
When they were halfway up the steps, Lord Vicerin suddenly spun the Sandspear around, forcing back the ghosts who’d surrounded him with a single, mighty stroke. The magical weapon hummed and blurred. A tornado of sand grew around it. It spun madly, hissing like a nest of snakes, scattering the ghosts altogether.
As the whirlwind began to rotate more quickly, it spat out gobbets of sand. They flew down toward the ascending triplets, transforming rapidly into winged creatures with pincers for mouths. Some reached out with clawed arms; others trailed probing tentacles. The air around them glowed and fizzed.
“Tear those brats apart!” bellowed Vicerin.
The heat swelled inside Gulph. With it came something entirely unexpected.
Calm.
“They can’t hurt us,” he said. “We don’t have to be afraid.”
“I hope you’re right!” Elodie flinched as the swarm of flying monsters bore down toward them. Steam boiled in their wake, and Gulph understood that the creatures were burning up inside. Just like they were.
An idea came to him. A crazy idea. But a good one.
Slowly, deliberately, Gulph slipped his sword into its scabbard and unclipped his belt. The weapon clattered to the ground.
Gulph! What are you doing? The voice rang out clear and loud. It was Tarlan’s. It took Gulph a moment to realize that his brother hadn’t even moved his lips.
We’re not here to fight, he thought back. We’re here to end the war.
Tarlan’s eyes widened. Then he too unbuckled his scabbard and let his sword fall. Beside him, Elodie did the same.
The sand creatures don’t belong to him, Gulph thought.
No. Tarlan’s response was instant. They belong to us.
Will they obey us? That was Elodie.
They have no choice, Gulph answered. Are you ready?
Yes. Elodie’s response was as bright as a flame.
Yes. Tarlan’s thought cut through it, a furious snarl.
Then yes, Gulph agreed. Hesitating, he added: We can hear each other’s thoughts.
Yes.
Yes.
Gulph smiled.
Yes!
United as they never had been before, the triplets raised their hands. The avalanche of flying creatures broke over them like a wave. The impact rocked Gulph backward, but he stood his ground. Sand scoured his face. He pushed back against the torrent. He felt Tarlan and Elodie doing the same. Thousands of bodies battered them. Millions of grains of sand.
They’re all just dust on the wind, thought Gulph.
Immediately heat b
lasted through him. Just like when he turned invisible. Only this was stronger. Bigger. He knew that Tarlan and Elodie felt it too. He could feel their minds opening like flowers, welcoming the desert magic.
Working as one, they gathered up the heat and threw it back at their attackers. The creatures instantly began to glow white-hot. Gulph watched in amazement as the individual grains of sand fused together. The creatures merged, their bodies melting into a shining ring of light that started to circle the heads of the triplets.
Not one ring! Three!
The glowing rings rippled like molten glass. One gold, one green, one red. Beads of light sprayed from them.
They looked like crowns.
Looking down at the battlefield, Gulph sent out a fresh thought with all his strength, and all his will. This stops here! This stops now!
He spotted Captain Ossilius amid the mass of bodies. His friend had frozen in the act of striking down a sand-warrior. Gulph repeated his silent command, and watched with relief as Ossilius lowered his sword and took a step back. All around him, his soldiers did the same.
The enemy warrior Ossilius had been about to strike stood motionless for an instant. Then its body began to melt. What had once been a man-shaped column of sand became a shining stream of light that spun briefly on the spot, then rippled through the air to join the three shining crowns spinning above the triplets.
All across the battlefield, weapons went down, and sand-warriors turned to lines of liquid glass. Shouts of alarm became cries of relief as the enemy was sucked into the crowns.
Of all the faces Gulph saw, only one showed no sign of surprise. Kalia, her red-gold hair blowing as if in a desert wind, wore a smile of infinite pride.
I think we’re ready, came Tarlan’s thought.
I think so too, agreed Elodie.
Gulph made a final scan of the battlefield. Not a single sand-warrior remained. The air was clear too—the only creatures flying inside the cavernous throne room were the thorrods and the wyverns.
The three rings of energy spun above them, an entire enemy army fused together and burning as bright as the desert sun.
Vicerin teetered on the topmost step, still twirling the Sandspear over his head. The tornado of sand had disappeared. His entire army had disappeared. He looked very small.
Lord Vicerin! Gulph launched the thought like a javelin. We’re coming for you!
Vicerin trembled as if Gulph had struck him a physical blow. He mouthed something Gulph couldn’t hear, and held out the Sandspear as if to ward them off.
Gulph raced up the stairs. Tarlan and Elodie matched him stride for stride. As they neared the platform at the top, the crowns of light expanded. Vicerin shrank, stumbled, fell. He raised his arms, his face a mask of terror. The crowns encircled him, spinning his body in a frenzy.
The heat gushed out of Gulph. He could feel it leaving him—the fire, the light, the dizzying sense of being in touch not just with the roots of magic, but the roots of the world itself.
It’s going, he thought, and while a small part of him felt sad, another part felt relieved.
Elodie’s thought chimed against his. Don’t worry, Gulph. The magic isn’t going away. It’s just going to sleep. It will be there whenever we want it. It’s in us forever.
The crowns shrank into a blinding knot of light. It was so bright that Gulph couldn’t bear to look at it. He could no longer see Vicerin at all.
If he’s not dead after this, thought Tarlan, he never will be.
Now they were just ten steps from the platform at the top of the stairs. Eight steps. Seven. Gulph thought of Melchior, who had worked his magic through the power of numbers. Gulph’s own magic—and that of his siblings—was different, but no less strong. Nevertheless, his feet felt heavy. Every movement was an ordeal. Beside him, both Tarlan and Elodie were gasping with the effort.
Five steps. Three, two, one . . .
By now, the glowing crowns had shrunk almost to nothing. They blazed briefly, then abruptly winked out of sight. In their place was a cloud of white smoke. The wind that had been howling through Gulph’s head died to nothing. He felt suddenly cold, and completely exhausted. Elodie staggered, and Tarlan had to catch her before she could fall.
The smoke cleared.
“No,” croaked Elodie. “It can’t be . . . .”
Standing before them, his face slashed and bloodied, his once-shining armor now blackened and buckled, was Lord Vicerin. He was moving stiffly. He was grinning like a madman.
He was still holding the Sandspear.
“It protected him,” growled Tarlan. “Just like it protected Hypiro.”
The Sandspear vibrated in Vicerin’s trembling hand. Light crackled at its tip, like a tiny thunderstorm. Now Gulph understood where all the power they’d unleashed had ended up.
What do we have to do to defeat him? he thought hopelessly.
“Do you still believe in the power of the prophecy?” Vicerin growled. “You would do better to believe in the power of me!” He circled behind the nearest of the three thrones, lips curled to reveal his enormous teeth.
“Put that thing down!” said Elodie. “It’s over, can’t you see that?”
Vicerin’s delicately plucked eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “I think not, my dear. You see, this lovely spear is doing something rather special for me.”
“It’s making you even crazier than you were before,” snapped Tarlan.
“It is making me invincible!” Vicerin retorted.
Gulph heard footsteps. Glancing round, he saw Captain Ossilius leading Kalia, Pip, and what looked like the entire army up the stairs toward them. Gulph had never been more pleased to see his old friend.
Vicerin’s eyes flicked to Ossilius, then settled on Gulph.
“You can keep your thrones,” he said, pressing his hand to his throat, where the three green jewels still dangled. “I may even let you have these pretty things—for the short time you have left to live. All I really need is what is in your bag—yes, you, the deformed one, I am talking to you!”
Gulph shifted his pack on his shoulders. He could feel the round shapes of the three crowns pressing through the cloth, as if eager to escape.
“Never,” said Gulph. “You’ll never have them.”
“I disagree,” Vicerin replied.
With a triumphant yell, he thrust the Sandspear toward Gulph. Gulph sprang backward, but not fast enough to dodge the beams of energy that shot from the end of the weapon. They encircled his body like hands made of burning glass. Hot tentacles tightened around his legs and neck. Fingers probed under his arms, stealing into his pack. Vicerin jerked the Sandspear like a fisherman reeling in his catch, and Gulph flew through the air toward him.
“Gulph!” shouted Tarlan, clutching at his brother.
Gulph landed heavily, and immediately started to wriggle. But the tentacles were knotted so tightly he could hardly even breathe. Vicerin loomed over him, preparing to stab the Sandspear down into his chest. Tarlan and Elodie raised their swords and prepared to rush to Gulph’s aid.
Someone pushed past them and threw himself between Gulph and Vicerin. It was Ossilius.
“Let the boy go,” snapped the former Captain of the Guard. His voice shook with fury, but the hand that was holding his sword to Vicerin’s throat was as steady as a rock.
“The Sandspear will kill you before you can kill me,” Vicerin crooned. “And the boy will not be saved.”
“Take the crowns!” Ossilius growled. “Take whatever you want. Just let Gulph go!”
“Ossilius!” Gulph cried. “No!”
Vicerin looked suspicious, then pleased. “Are we to call this a surrender?”
“No,” Ossilius answered. “More a distraction.”
Without further warning, he struck an almighty blow with his sword—not at Vicerin, but at the flickering lines of light connecting Gulph’s body to the end of the Sandspear. The glowing crystal blade made a hideous sucking sound as it sheared straight through the
m.
The tentacles of light that had bound Gulph grew slack and melted away. At once Tarlan and Elodie were there, pulling him to his feet.
Suddenly unbalanced, Vicerin staggered backward. He stabbed the Sandspear at Ossilius, shrieking in anger. A jagged bolt of light slammed into the captain’s stomach, hurling him back between two of the thrones.
“No!” shouted Gulph. Shaking off his brother and sister, he rushed to where Ossilius lay in a pool of blood.
“Leave me,” Ossilius croaked. “Don’t let him . . .”
Something yanked at Gulph’s pack. Already weakened, the straps snapped. Gulph lunged, but he was too late. Vicerin was running toward the rear of the platform, the pack clutched to his chest. Gulph clearly saw a flash of gold from one of the three crowns of Toronia poking out of the top. Nearby, more steps led down to a distant exit.
“Stop him!” Tarlan roared.
A green blur sped down from the cavern heights and smashed into the steps, right in front of Vicerin. The entire cavern trembled. The wyvern lifted its head from the crystal stairs, which were now crazed with cracks, and roared.
Vicerin darted sideways. One hand was clenched tight on Gulph’s pack and its precious cargo; the other held the Sandspear. The chains around his neck snapped, and the three green jewels scattered.
Smash! A second wyvern dived down, crash-landing on the edge of the platform and forcing Vicerin to backtrack completely. Crystal showered down from above. Vicerin raced behind the thrones toward the thickest of the pillars supporting the ceiling.
Gulph saw there was a door set into the pillar.
“Tarlan!” he cried, unwilling to leave the badly wounded Ossilius. “Elodie! Block his escape route!”
Elodie ran to the pillar and took up station in the doorway. Meanwhile, Tarlan had set off to intercept Vicerin.
“Tarlan!” shouted Gulph. “Be careful! He’s still got the—”
Glassy fire flashed from the end of the Sandspear, aimed right at Tarlan’s head. Dropping beneath the sizzling light, Tarlan threw himself headlong across the smooth crystal, sliding clean over the platform’s edge and tumbling out of view down the steps.
Now there was nothing between Vicerin and Elodie.
A Kingdom Rises Page 27
