by Stuart Daly
Sara shrugged. ‘I just needed somewhere quiet to sit and think.’
Gramidge looked at her with concern. ‘Now that’s a sour face if I’ve ever seen one. What’s up, lass? Don’t tell me Roland’s taken one of his practical jokes too far.’
‘No. He’s been jogging laps around the field all afternoon.’
‘I would’ve thought that’d be a reason for celebrating. So why the long face?’ Gramidge pointed a finger at her in warning. ‘You’d better hope the wind doesn’t change direction or you’ll end up looking like that forever.’
A smile broke through Sara’s gloom. ‘What?’
‘You’ve never heard of that expression before? Well, it’s true, you know.’ He sat down beside her and crossed his arms. ‘When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, there was this grumpy old man who lived in my village. He never had a nice thing to say to anybody and was forever cursing and whining. Well, to cut a long story short, one afternoon this terrible storm came out of nowhere, and Misery Guts, as the old man was affectionately known, stuck his head out his window and screamed at the gale. He wasn’t a particularly handsome man, with his nose a clear winner in a game of hide-and-seek with the rest of his face, but you should have seen what he looked like from that day onwards. Exposed to a sudden change in wind direction, Misery Guts ended up looking something like this.’ Gramidge pulled a ridiculous expression, his eyes bulging and his tongue lolling down his chin.
Sara chuckled and pushed the steward playfully. ‘And you expect me to believe that? It sounds like something Roland would come up with.’
‘It’s the truth. So let that be a lesson to you.’ Gramidge stared across the field and hummed a tune quietly to himself. ‘It’s only natural that you should be worried about the tests.’
‘Is it that obvious?’ Sara swallowed and glanced at the steward. ‘I haven’t told this to anybody, so I’d appreciate it if this doesn’t go any further than between us.’
Gramidge nodded, and she drew a steadying breath.
‘As you know, my father’s an archivist in the Library of Briston.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He’s the smartest person I know. He’s a walking, talking encyclopaedia on the history of the Four Kingdoms. He’d love to see the world, but he has a lame leg. Just walking along the library aisles sometimes leaves him exhausted. I suppose that’s why he reads so much. Books take him to these wonderful, distant lands he knows he’ll never be able to see for himself. He seems happy with his life, but sometimes I see him staring absently out a window, and I know he’s wishing he could run as fast as a horse and travel the world. All my childhood I grew up hearing stories about the Four Kingdoms, and I made a promise to myself that I’d explore each and every one of them. My father will never be able to see them, but I can do it for him.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘Though now I feel as if Caspan and the others will fail because of me.’
The steward pursed his lips. ‘The Masters commended your efforts this morning. They were particularly impressed with how well you worked as a team.’
‘Well, I didn’t. I got the last riddle wrong.’ Sara looked up at Gramidge. ‘Imagine if I’d done that inside a Dray tomb? It would’ve been the end of all of us. Being a treasure hunter’s a lot harder than I thought. I’m not as strong as the others.’
Gramidge regarded her earnestly. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Sara. You’re stronger than you think.’
She shook her head. ‘No I’m not. I’m not very good with a sword, and I wouldn’t complete half of the training activities if it wasn’t for the others helping me.’
‘Strength comes in many forms, Sara. You mightn’t be as physically strong as your friends –’ Gramidge tapped the left side of his chest ‘– but your strength comes from your heart. You have compassion and sincerity vital for holding the group together. Without you, I’m sure your friends would gradually drift apart. I know you help Caspan and Lachlan learn Ancient Tongue, and Kilt seems to be at war with everybody in the world apart from you and Lachlan. You have a gentle nature that draws people to you. Rest assured – your friends need you just as much as you need them.’
Sara’s eyes glistened. ‘Do you think so?’
Gramidge gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. ‘I know so.’
Caspan was glad that he couldn’t be spotted in his darkened section of the courtyard, but he also felt guilty for having overheard their discussion. He knew Sara was struggling with some of the more physically demanding training activities. The other day she stormed off after having failed to swing a grappling hook up to the top of the tower in the forest. He tried to help her as much as possible during such exercises, as did Lachlan. They were extremely appreciative of the time she spent with them, teaching them how to read Dray dialects, and were glad to pay her back in any way possible. But he had no idea she was taking her failures to heart.
He wondered if he should tell Lachlan what he’d heard, but decided to keep Sara’s secret to himself. She’d confided in Gramidge, and Caspan didn’t want word getting out that he had spied on them. He could only imagine how betrayed she’d feel. Caspan valued her friendship greatly and vowed to make an even greater effort to help her during the next test.
Sara and Gramidge went back inside the House of Whispers, but Caspan stayed there for several hours longer, comforted by the night, steeling himself for to morrow’s challenge. He felt sorry for Frostbite, who he’d neglected all day, and decided to take him for a flight. Three months ago he would have never entertained the thought of flying solo in the evening and without a saddle, but he had come far since then. He had mastered all the techniques taught by the Masters and had complete faith that Frostbite would never place him in any danger.
Caspan crossed to the top of the training field, raised his soul key to his lips and summoned his Warden. He never ceased to be amazed how Frostbite took form out of the magical blue mist, and he watched, mesmerised, as the drake materialised. Frostbite stretched his leathery wings then nuzzled against him, almost knocking Caspan off his feet.
‘Hey, go easy.’ Caspan laughed as he rubbed the drake on the snout, then climbed up onto his back. ‘How about a night flight?’ Frostbite craned his neck around, glanced back at Caspan and gave a strange look that resembled a smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d object,’ Caspan said.
Caspan kicked Frostbite gently in the flanks and the drake took to the sky. The clouds parted, revealing a full moon that hung like a brilliant white pearl floating in a sea of black, and Frostbite flew towards it. Caspan took a firm grip on one of the leathery fin-like spikes that ran down Frostbite’s neck, then wrapped his legs tightly around the drake and hooked his heels back into his wingpits. With each beat of his wings Frostbite flew higher and higher until Caspan could no longer see the House of Whispers. Never before had Caspan reached such dizzying heights, and he made Frostbite hover on the slight wind currents as he gazed at the world below.
He felt transcendent, floating above the cares and concerns of the sleeping kingdom. Far to the south he could see the lights of a large city, perhaps Briston, and rivers glistened in the moonlight like diamond necklaces draped across the land. Far to the east he spotted the foothills of Lochinbar, and he imagined the enormous black patches to the west were the great forests that stretched all the way down to the southern ports.
Some time passed before they descended. Frostbite spread his wings and dipped to the right, sending them spiralling slowly downwards. By the time they arrived back at the House of Whispers Caspan felt refreshed and invigorated, ready for anything tomorrow’s challenge would throw at him.
CHAPTER 4
THE SECOND CHALLENGE REVEALED
The following morning was grey and bleak. Rain had set in overnight, and although it was now only a faint drizzle, the initiates were forced to wrap themselves in their cloaks to keep dry. They were riding along a sodden track, following the Masters to where they would attempt the second and final trial.
They had speculated at breakfast what lay i
n store for them. Whatever it was, Caspan was sure it would challenge them physically. Yesterday’s test had been a mental exercise, focusing on their ability to detect genuine Dray artefacts and how well they could solve clues and riddles. No doubt the Masters would focus on different skills this time.
After riding for almost an hour, they emerged from the forest to the south of the House of Whispers. Lachlan pointed at a large mound of earth several hundred yards ahead. ‘I thought there was a Dray burial mound in this field,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I saw it during one of our flying lessons last week.’
Master Scott glanced over his shoulder. ‘There is. That’s where you’ll do your second test.’
Roland thrust a fist triumphantly in the air. ‘Finally.’ He kicked Caspan playfully in the shin. ‘Time to shine again, my dear boy.’ He stood in his stirrups and studied the man-made hill, using Morgan, who had just reined in at its base, to determine its height. Screwing up his nose, he said, unimpressed, ‘Although, it doesn’t look that big.’
‘They’re deceptive,’ Sara said, riding at the rear of the group. ‘Remember what we learned during our first week of training?’ Roland shrugged blankly, and she explained. ‘Some mounds contain only a single chamber, but others go deep underground. They can stretch for several hundred yards and contain dozens of rooms.’
Roland slapped his thigh excitedly. ‘Now that sounds a bit more promising.’
They rode over to the burial mound and dismounted. A sturdy, iron-ribbed door was set in the side of the hill. Morgan unlocked it, then beckoned them to come close.
‘This is your final test. Complete it, and you will have successfully finished your training. Fail, and you will –’
‘Have another joyous month of training,’ Roland mumbled under his breath. It came out a little louder than intended, and he gave the Master an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, sir.’
Morgan drew a patient breath. ‘At the end of the tomb you’ll find a bag of silver coins. Just one of you needs to make it all the way through and exit with the bag.’
Sara and Kilt nudged each another and smiled, but Caspan didn’t share their optimism. The friends had only completed the last test in the nick of time. In particular, he didn’t like how the Master said that only one of the recruits had to make it out.
‘The first people to enter this tomb would have encountered perilous traps,’ Scott said. ‘You’ll be relieved to know that we’ve gone through the tomb and made some modifications. The traps can still be triggered, but none of them can harm you. The last thing we want is for one of you to get killed.’
Lachlan raised an eyebrow. ‘Then how can you tell if we successfully complete the challenge?’
‘What do you mean by “if”?’ Roland remarked smugly.
‘Red dye,’ Scott explained. The initiates shared a confused look. ‘Should you trigger a trap, red dye will shoot out at you,’ continued the Master.
‘Great. I knew I should have worn my old tunic,’ Roland said with a dour face.
‘Perhaps you’d like me to replace the original poisonous stakes and razor-sharp blades?’
Roland was so caught up in fussing about with his cloak, checking if he could protect his tunic and breeches, that he failed to detect Scott’s feigned sincerity. ‘No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Fortunately, I’m not wearing my best cloak. I should be able to cover myself up.’
Morgan stared flatly at the boy for a moment before shaking his head and striding over to the mounts.
‘Are you sure?’ Scott persisted. ‘It would only take me a week.’
‘No, please. Don’t go to any lengths on my account. I should be okay.’ Roland cowered as Kilt clouted him over the back of the head. ‘Hey! What was that for?’
Kilt glared at him. ‘Just stop and listen to yourself. You sound like a big girl! Now stop being such a puddenhead and let the Masters finish explaining the challenge.’
Roland was about to comment when Morgan cut him short. ‘That’s enough!’ He shot Roland a reprimanding look. ‘No more interruptions.’
Scott cleared his throat. ‘If you trigger a trap and get red dye on you, you must remain beside the trap until I come through and lead you out. In real life you’d be dead, so you won’t be able to go deeper into the tomb and help your friends. This test will challenge you, but I’m confident you’ll make it through. That is, of course, if you work as a team. Now, are there any questions?’
‘We’re not allowed to use our Wardens again?’ Caspan asked. Gramidge had collected their soul keys before they’d set off this morning, but he thought he’d ask on the slim chance the steward had handed them over to the Masters.
Scott shook his head. ‘We want to test your thieving abilities.’ He pointed at the five lanterns in the narrow recess of the door. ‘There’s your equipment.’
‘That’s not much,’ Sara remarked.
‘That’s all a skilled treasure hunter will need to make it through the tomb.’ Scott regarded each of the initiates in turn. ‘I wish you the best of luck. There’s no time limit for this challenge, so take as long as you need. Remember – an impatient tomb robber is often a dead tomb robber.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘When you’re ready.’
The friends collected the lanterns, lit them with their tinder and flints, and attached them to their belts. With Caspan leading – who they often preferred to lead in situations such as this, relying on his cat-like agility and acquired thieving skills – they pushed open the door and entered the burial mound.
CHAPTER 5
TRAPS IN THE DARK
The recruits moved warily along the passageway. Nobody spoke. The only sound was the muffled scraping of their boots across the stone floor. They proceeded in single file, a space of three yards separating each of them, just as they had been taught during their training sessions.
Caspan was followed by Roland, then Kilt, Sara and Lachlan. As leader of the group, Caspan brushed aside cobwebs and warded back the darkness with his lantern. Roland peered past him, studying the walls and floor for levers and dart holes. It was reassuring having a second set of eyes, but Caspan wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. They’d trained three months for this. He wasn’t going to rush things and make a mistake that might see them fail.
Despite the pressure, he felt oddly comfortable down here. It reminded him of the sewers beneath Floran, minus the stench and the rats. Of course, the sewers weren’t trapped, but they were full of pitfalls and rival gangs of rogues and fugitives. You always had to be on the lookout and be ready to spring into action at any moment. Perhaps it was the familiarity of that, he thought, that made him feel as one with the darkness of the tomb.
The corridor turned to the right and sloped downwards, burrowing deep beneath the mound. Caspan spared a knowing glance back at Sara, then motioned for the others to follow him. It wasn’t until the passageway levelled out and passed through an archway that he raised a clenched fist in warning, signalling to stop.
He’d spotted the first trap.
He studied the corridor for a moment before gesturing for his friends to form up behind him. ‘Pressure stones,’ he said, pointing at the black flagstones set in the floor. He directed their attention to the small holes in the walls. ‘And darts.’
‘Actually, red dye,’ Sara corrected.
Roland pulled a sour face and drew the folds of his cloak tightly around him. ‘Personally, I’d prefer darts.’
Kilt looked at him in disbelief.
‘What? At least they don’t stain your clothes.’
‘Yeah, but they might kill you, you great big puddenhead!’ She flicked him across the shoulder, then looked at Caspan. ‘What do you suggest?’
He licked his lips. ‘We’ll continue in the same order. Remember: leave a space of three yards. That way, if one of us makes a mistake, everybody won’t get eliminated. And don’t tread on any of the black stones.’
‘If you do, I’ll be holding you personally responsible for buying me a new
set of clothes,’ Roland said sternly.
Kilt bristled. ‘Don’t tempt me.’
They advanced cautiously along the corridor, stepping on the sections of grey rock between the flagstones. Eventually, they made it through without incident and stopped at the far side, where the passageway passed through another archway.
Roland peered back at the tunnel and turned up his nose. ‘I’d hardly call that difficult. I thought this test was supposed to challenge us. My grandmother could have done that – and knitting at the same time.’
Sara patted a hand over her heart and drew a steadying breath. ‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Just do exactly as I do and everything will be fine.’ Roland winked at her and leaned against the wall …
Setting off a block of stone, which retracted slowly with an ominous grinding sound.
Caspan cried out in alarm and Roland leapt back, bumping into Kilt and forcing her to stagger to the right – just as dye shot out of a hole on the opposite wall, hitting Kilt directly in the face.
‘You great idiot!’ she roared, trying in vain to wipe the red from her face. ‘Look what you did!’
Roland cringed. ‘Oops, sorry.’
‘Now I’m eliminated. Thanks a lot!’
A smirk played at the edges of Roland’s lips. ‘Think on the bright side.’
Kilt stopped and stared blankly at him. ‘And what’s that?’
Roland rubbed his chin, then shook his head. ‘Actually, nothing’s coming to mind at the moment. But I’m sure something will.’
Infuriated, Kilt shoved him hard, sending him falling towards the wall. Lachlan and Caspan reacted quickly, grabbing hold of him before another trap was activated.
‘Everybody just needs to calm down,’ Caspan said. ‘We need to stay away from the wall. And, whatever you do, do not lean against it. Most traps are activated by pressure stones. We have no choice but to walk across the floor, but don’t touch the wall unless it’s absolutely necessary.’ He glanced at Kilt. She did look comical, with her face and hair stained bright red, and he tried hard not to laugh. ‘I’m sorry.’
