“Will I kill you?” the undead king went on. “Or will I turn you?”
“I don’t care what you do to me!” Gulph cared very much, but he wasn’t going to let this monster see that. “Just let my friends go!”
“Friends?” Brutan continued his endless circling. With mounting horror Gulph realized he was steadily tightening his circuit. Closing in. “You mean the friends who betrayed you?”
Gulph risked a glance toward Pip. He wanted her to hear this. “Yes, I was betrayed,” he said, “but not by Pip or anyone here. Magritt and Nynus were the ones who betrayed me. It was my hands that put the killing crown on your head, but they tricked me into doing it. I’m no murderer.”
“You lie!” Brutan snarled.
“It’s the truth, I swear it.” Gulph was no longer talking to his undead father but to his oldest friend. “I only found out about the poison when it was too late.”
Pip’s hands flew to her mouth. “But . . . I thought . . .”
“You saw what you saw, Pip. I don’t blame you for thinking it was me. In a way it was me.”
“But it wasn’t! You didn’t . . . all this time I’ve been thinking . . . Oh, Gulph, what have I done?”
“What you had to do. It’s all right, Pip. You didn’t know. You were just trying to save everyone.”
“ENOUGH OF THIS!”
The undead king lurched toward Gulph, clutching at his throat. Instinctively Gulph bent his knees and sprang upward. Brutan’s fingers whistled just a hairbreadth below his feet. Airborne, Gulph tumbled, tucking in his arms so as to spin more quickly, and flipped straight over the stooped body of the undead king. He landed lightly behind Brutan, but even as he straightened up, his onetime father was spinning to face him.
“Come to me, traitor boy!”
Brutan’s arm lashed out, lightning fast. The bones of his fingers scraped Gulph’s cheek. Crying out, Gulph scrambled backward, crablike, on his hands and feet. Brutan lumbered after him.
Heat and sand! Gulph had no idea why his invisibility seemed connected to those strange sensations. But if ever there was a time to summon them, it was now. Desert trance!
Nothing happened. He continued scrabbling across the floor. Brutan was gaining on him; if he tried to get to his feet, he would be caught. The Tangletree Players, watching in dumb amazement, fell back like a receding tide. And Brutan came on.
“Death? Or undeath? Which will it be?”
From the corner of his eye Gulph saw Brutan’s undead legionnaires forming a barrier behind him. He was being herded. Hemmed in.
You cannot see me! he thought wildly. I am the sun and the open sky and the deep, deep dune. I am the lost and ancient, the parched and the scoured, and YOU CANNOT SEE ME!
Brutan stopped. The flesh of his face was almost gone, yet Gulph could still read his suddenly baffled expression. The undead king’s bony fingers flexed.
“Where are you, trickster?”
Wouldn’t you like to know?
Resisting the urge to simply bolt across the throne room, the now-invisible Gulph crawled slowly sideways on his hands and knees, taking great care not to make a single sound.
“Guards!” Brutan snarled. “Find him!”
The undead legionnaires lurched into action, swinging their swords randomly through the air where Gulph had disappeared: empty air, for Gulph had already managed to circle behind the cowering players. But what to do next?
Brutan had turned his attention to Pip. With a sudden lunge, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her small body to face his. He planted his free hand on top of her head, gripping it tight. Pip screamed.
“Show yourself!” roared the undead king. “Or I will tear off her head!”
“No!”
Shedding his invisibility with a reflexive shudder, Gulph sprinted toward Brutan. The undead king turned awkwardly, relaxing his hold on Pip just enough for her to slither away. At the sight of Gulph, Brutan opened his arms wide. Gulph was close enough to hear the tendons squeal like rusty door hinges. Decayed lips peeled back from tombstone teeth in a hideous parody of a smile.
Gulph dropped to the floor, sliding beneath his undead father’s hands, both of which brushed his flying hair. Brutan bellowed his frustration. Springing up, Gulph continued running, heading now toward the throne. Brutan lumbered after him and away from the astonished Tangletree Players.
To Gulph’s relief the tiredness that had plagued him since his return to Idilliam was gone. He was filled with a kind of giddy energy; he felt as if he could run forever. Slowing a little, he allowed Brutan to gain. It was agonizing, hearing the creaking, ripping noises of the undead king’s approach; even worse was the realization that the one sound a normal man would have made—that of labored breathing—was entirely absent.
The Great Throne loomed before him: a gnarled, black mountain that looked more like a vast and ancient tree than a seat for a king. Gulph ran straight toward it . . . then suddenly dodged, tucking his body and rolling sideways out of Brutan’s path.
Unable to change course in time, Brutan crashed into the throne. Several of the twisted boughs broke off; one speared the undead king through the chest, and Gulph’s heart missed a beat.
I’ve killed him again!
But Brutan staggered upright. Howling with fury, he pulled the branch from where it was lodged between his ribs. It juddered free with a dreadful scraping sound. He drew back his arm and hurled the dead wood at Gulph like a javelin. Gulph rolled again, and it missed him by a whisker.
Still howling, Brutan tore down the canopy of knotted timber that hung over the throne and flung it across the room. The canopy broke apart, becoming a storm of spearlike branches that scattered both the Tangletree Players and the undead legionnaires before it.
Recovering his balance, Brutan drew his sword.
Sword! Of course! You fool!
Gulph ran the length of the throne room to the place where he and Pip had entered. Halfway there, he turned invisible again.
Kalia’s sword was lying exactly where he’d dropped it. He snatched it up and was relieved to see it melt into transparency the instant his fingers touched the hilt.
Back in the middle of the throne room, the undead legionnaires—there were six of them—had turned on the Tangletree Players. Willing himself to stay invisible, Gulph ran to the first and plunged his sword into its chest. The fire in its eyes winked out instantly, and what had been a lumbering, rotting monster transformed into a simple human corpse, which collapsed to the floor in a swift tangle of limbs. As it came to rest, Gulph fancied he could see relief wash over its lifeless face.
He managed to kill two more legionnaires before Brutan realized what was going on. The undead king stopped in his tracks, his eyes blazing.
“What are you doing?” he roared. For a moment Gulph thought Brutan was addressing him. But, incredibly, he was talking to the now-dead legionnaires. “Get up! Get up and kill them all!”
They’ll never get up again, thought Gulph with satisfaction. Glancing sideways, he saw Pip’s eyes widen with sudden hope.
The three remaining legionnaires, though clearly confused, had rallied. They charged as one to the spot where their comrades had fallen . . . and where the invisible Gulph was standing. Brutan, steadily advancing, continued to bellow his outrage.
Gulph met the first two legionnaires with the point of Kalia’s sword. But with each stroke he felt the burst of energy he’d found fading. Trying to fight back the tiredness clawing at his limbs again, he swung at the third—a hideous, dried-out mummy of a creature—but slipped and fell sideways, and the blow failed to connect. As he recovered his balance, Pip gave a shout.
“Gulph! Look out!”
To Gulph’s dismay he realized he could see Kalia’s sword again; the blade shimmered ghostlike for a moment before condensing into solid crystal.
They can see me!
“Duck!” Pip yelled.
Without thinking, Gulph obeyed. The undead legionnaire’s sword whistled over h
is head. Gulph tried to tumble away, but his feet caught on one of the fallen bodies and instead of rolling he simply sprawled, dropping his sword.
Brutan’s roars turned to thunderous laughter. The legionnaire loomed over Gulph, its sword raised and ready for the final killing blow. Gulph reached for his own weapon, but it was too far away.
He opened his mouth to scream.
The undead legionnaire burst into flames.
Gulph blinked, for a moment unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The legionnaire’s mummified body was enveloped in orange fire. It stood, its limbs writhing, then it planted its blackening feet wide and raised its sword again.
“Kill it, Gulph! Kill it!”
And there was Pip, appearing from behind the burning legionnaire and brandishing the torch she’d used to set it on fire. She must have grabbed it from one of the wall sconces, Gulph supposed. If only it had worked.
But it did work, he realized, letting his sword lie where it was.
Sure enough, the legionnaire’s movements were becoming gradually more erratic. Its mummified body cracked and shuddered as the flames swallowed it up. Then, finally, it collapsed.
Gulph rolled out of the way just before it hit the floor. Black cinders and burning embers exploded outward. He felt sudden heat on his ankle, then a foot kicked the flames away, and a small hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him clear.
“I thought I’d lost you,” said Pip, helping him to his feet.
Before he could reply, bony fingers wrenched Gulph from Pip’s grasp. They closed around his collar, squeezing his neck tight enough to make him cry out. His feet left the floor and he was turned, dangling, to find himself staring straight into Brutan’s face.
“Never turn your back, boy!” he snarled.
Close up, the undead king looked like something from a nightmare. The skin of his face—what was left of it—had turned a putrid green. Beneath it, the white skull was pitted with tiny holes. Where the undead king’s brain had once been, there now squirmed a mountain of maggots.
“You were a puzzle to me,” Brutan went on. “But no more. I have decided what to do with you at last.”
Gulph’s clothes were tightening around his neck, choking him. The straps of his pack dug into his armpits; something wrapped inside it was digging painfully into his ribs—something hard and spiky.
The crown!
He struggled, but in vain. The undead king’s grip was too strong, and Gulph’s own strength had left him. He was exhausted beyond measure.
“Death is a world you will now know, boy,” Brutan hissed, leaning close. The stench of his corrupted flesh was unspeakable. “My decision is made.”
The undead king’s hand tightened around Gulph’s collar. A second set of fingers—just naked bones strung together by stringlike tendons—reached under his chin.
“First I will have your throat. Then . . .”
“Put him down!”
The blackness in Brutan’s eyes flicked back to red, and Gulph had the overwhelming sensation that he had just blinked in surprise.
“Put him down right now!”
Brutan turned his head. Gulph looked past him to where the entire troupe of the Tangletree Players was standing. They’d made a rough semicircle around him and Brutan. Each of them held a blazing torch.
Gulph’s heart swelled.
“Do you want to burn first,” Pip asked Brutan, “or just die?”
Brutan’s grip meant Gulph couldn’t move his head to see her properly, but he noticed she was the only one not holding a torch. She was holding something, though . . .
“Enough of this game!” roared Brutan.
“We may be the Tangletree Players,” Pip replied. Her voice trembled, and Gulph loved her for it. “But we don’t play games!”
She hurled something through the air: a long, bright shape. It spun, its keen edge making rainbows in the smoky air. Gulph twisted, instinctively reaching out for it, grateful yet again for the suppleness of his body.
His fingers closed on something hard and cold.
Crystal.
Gulph held up the sword and stared into his father’s lifeless face.
“Do you know who gave me this sword?” he said. Brutan’s jaws opened and closed, but no words came out. “My mother did. Kalia.”
The undead king’s eyes flickered in confusion. “Kalia is dead!” he hissed.
“No. She lives. You didn’t kill her and you won’t kill me!”
Drawing back his arm, he plunged the blade into the middle of Brutan’s chest.
Nothing moved. Even the flames of the torches held by the Tangletree Players seemed frozen. Then Brutan’s skeleton fingers unlatched themselves from Gulph’s throat, and he dropped to the ground.
Gulph backed slowly away. His heart made thunder in his chest. Brutan swayed before him, one arm still outstretched, the other pawing feebly at the hilt of the crystal sword Gulph had buried in him.
After three steps, Gulph sank to his knees, fighting waves of dizziness, willing himself not to be sick. As if he were a grotesque reflection in some distorted mirror, Brutan dropped to his knees too. His ragged skull’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. From somewhere behind his ribs came a shrill hissing sound. The fire in his eyes guttered.
Die, Gulph thought woozily. Please, just . . . die.
A small hand crept into his.
“You did it,” said Pip. “Oh, Gulph, I knew you could. . . .”
Something flashed inside Brutan’s eye sockets. Fresh flames, of a nameless color Gulph had never seen before. A tremor ran through Brutan’s body. His hands closed around the sword’s crystal hilt. The tendons in his arms screeched. The sword’s blade screeched too as Brutan pulled it free. He raised it up, studied it with what might have been curiosity, or perhaps contempt.
Then he tossed it aside and rose to his feet. He rocked to and fro, clearly suffering from the wound Gulph had inflicted.
But the red fire in his eyes burned as brightly as ever.
Brutan, the undead king of Toronia, was still standing.
“It’s time to go,” said Gulph dully. “Now.” But when he tried to move, his muscles refused to obey him.
It was Pip who dragged him out of the throne room, just as she’d dragged him in. The Tangletree Players followed in a tight group. Dazed as he was, Gulph recognized that they had formed a protective circle around him.
As they ran through the castle passage, enough of Gulph’s strength returned for him to lead the way.
“Go left here!” he shouted when Pip hesitated at a junction in the corridor. “It’s not far!”
From close behind them came the sound of shambling footsteps and a hideous, gargling voice.
“You will pay for what you have done!”
It was Brutan, moving slowly, but moving all the same.
“Hurry!” Gulph cried.
The instant they burst out into the castle courtyard, they found themselves facing nearly a dozen of the undead. Noddy cried out, but Pip ran on.
“They didn’t attack us before!” she shouted. “Brutan put some kind of shield on me!”
“How do you know you’ve still got it?” Gulph called.
“I don’t!”
Steeling himself, Gulph led the charge toward the shambling corpses. At first they advanced without wavering, and he thought they’d made a huge mistake. Then, as the Tangletree Players ran through their midst, the undead stumbled aside as if pushed by an invisible force.
“I wish I’d had you with me a few days ago,” panted Gulph as they ran. No sooner had they passed through the gatehouse and out into the street beyond than Brutan appeared at the door.
“Take them!” he bellowed. “Bring them to me!”
Instantly the undead they’d just evaded turned and began to chase them. One was close enough to claw at Madrigal, who was lagging behind at the back of the group.
“I think our luck just ran out!” Pip gasped, finding an extra turn of speed.
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br /> The undead pursued them first through Idilliam, then out across the battlefield outside the city wall. As they raced through the smoke and ruins, Gulph risked a glance back and was relieved to see the enemy trailing a long way behind.
You can say what you like about the Tangletree Players, he thought, but we’re fast on our feet!
At last they reached the postern gate. To Gulph’s relief the burned timbers he’d stacked across the doorway hadn’t been disturbed. By now his lungs were laboring, and his breath was raw in his throat, but he’d mostly recovered his senses. In halting tones he explained to the others about the tunnels beneath the city and the lost realm of Celestis below.
“This is the only way down there,” he said. “All we have to do is get inside and close the door behind us.”
“And then we’ll be safe?” said Noddy.
Gulph didn’t answer.
They pulled aside the timbers and, one by one, entered the storeroom. Thankfully, none of the undead had found their way inside.
“There,” he gasped, pointing to the mechanism that moved the statue. “That lever. If we pull it, the statue will slide back and close off the doorway. I think.”
Simeon, ever the practical sort, spat on his hands, grabbed the lever, and heaved. Nothing happened. Frowning, he tried again. Still nothing.
“Noddy,” he said. “Give us a shove.”
Noddy joined him, then Madrigal, then Gulph, Pip, and all the others. The entire complement of the Tangletree Players set their collective weight against the lever on which their lives depended.
The lever refused to move.
Ordering the others back, Simeon peered at the mechanism to which the lever was attached. To Gulph it looked like a cage filled with toothed wheels. Simeon reached inside the cage and withdrew a handful of metal shards.
“Broken,” he said. “Looks like someone jammed something into it.”
Someone did, thought Gulph, remembering the sword Ossilius had used to wedge the mechanism closed.
What had saved them then had condemned them now. The door would remain open to the undead.
“What should we do?” said Pip.
“We’ve got no choice,” Gulph replied. “It’s Celestis or nothing. We have to go on.”
The Lost Realm Page 26
