‘How could he be so cruel?’ Marcel muttered. ‘He tricked me into believing it held reserves of magic, and all the time he must have been laughing at me, that I was such a fool.’
It didn’t seem possible that a man like Rhys would do such a thing.
‘Marcel, are you all right?’ Nicola asked. She was staring down at him with worried eyes. ‘You look angry about something.’
‘I am,’ he managed to say. If it hadn’t been for the fury that boiled through his blood, he would have thrown himself on the bed and wept bitterly.
‘Why? You should be as happy as I am. Your magic worked, Marcel, you broke Lord Alwyn’s spell. It’s your strongest sorcery since you defeated Mortregis.’
‘But this …’ he said, holding out the stone.
Nicola dismissed it with a wave of her hand. ‘All right, you needed the dragon’s tooth that Rhys gave you to make it work properly, but it was still your magic.’
Her words left him startled and silent. His magic! The dragon’s tooth was nothing but a piece of smooth stone with no more sorcery residing in it than a pebble down in the courtyard below. He had broken through Lord Alwyn’s spell with his own magic alone. More than that, he had kept Termagant in her savage form for the battle against the taurine and he’d saved the sergeant as well.
His own magic. Rhys had wanted him to trust his own gift, to let his will act in the world around him without fear that it would bring catastrophe. All his words, all his arguments, all his encouragement had come to nothing, until that stone was pressed into Marcel’s palm.
‘That’s why he gave it to me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Nicola.
‘This stone! Rhys gave it to me so my own magic would work.’
‘Yes, I know that, I just said as much myself.’
‘No, you don’t understand.’
From the bewildered expression on his sister’s face he realised that she certainly didn’t. He wasn’t sure he could explain it to her. Rhys had tricked him, that much was true, but not as part of some cruel joke. He’d done it so Marcel could learn to trust himself, to unleash his will and with it the magic born into his bones.
CHAPTER 24
Queen Demiter
‘OW! WHAT’S THAT NOISE?’ said Nicola, putting her hands to her ears.
It was certainly a dreadful sound, the kind that brought goosebumps to the skin. Nicola hurried to the window and quickly called Marcel to join her. ‘Look at this. The gates are opening, the big ones that have stayed closed for years.’
It was easy to tell that the hinges of the heavy gates hadn’t budged in a long time. They screeched and groaned like a herd of stubborn bulls, and when one side became stuck, a soldier had to climb a ladder and pour a bucket of oil over the rusted metal.
‘What’s going on?’
‘We’d better find out,’ said Nicola, leading the way out of the room.
As they made their way down to the courtyard, a steady stream of soldiers passed them in the corridors, going the other way. Once they stepped out onto the cobblestones, they discovered that they weren’t the only ones who’d left their quarters. Men and women and even children were emerging from every building inside the walls of the citadel, especially the keep. Why so many, thought Marcel, and why did they all look so unhappy?
He soon discovered the reason. A soldier in the dark blue of Tamerlane’s army stood at the keep’s main door, barring the way back in for a well-dressed woman who had just been evicted. ‘Out through the gates, all of you,’ he said.
‘Surely you can’t mean me!’ the woman protested.
‘That’s our orders, from Queen Demiter herself — no one’s to stay behind in the citadel, no exceptions.’
Queen! So Demiter had claimed back her title; not as a princess, but the ruler she now was.
‘Come on, everyone, out of the citadel and down to the main square,’ shouted the soldiers, and the order certainly did apply to everyone, it seemed, because scullery hands, cooks and chambermaids, stable boys and blacksmiths, even the high lords and ladies, were forced into the courtyard and then out through the gates into the town. Those in the finest clothes looked especially out of place.
Marcel watched their sour, harried faces and said to Nicola, ‘I bet they’ve never been into these streets before in their lives.’
Everyone, no exceptions meant Marcel and Nicola as well, of course. They were buffeted along with the rest, like paper boats in a stream, until they reached the square, which was built on the only piece of flat ground in the entire town. Pushing into the square from other streets were the townspeople of Cadell, herded by soldiers just as the inhabitants of the citadel had been. The two groups did their best to stay well apart until the sheer weight of numbers pressing from behind forced them together.
‘It is everyone, like the soldiers said,’ Nicola remarked. ‘If it wasn’t for the guards watching from the battlements, the whole population of Cadell would be here.’
Although not as tall as the adults around him, Marcel could still make out some kind of platform at one side of the square. ‘It’s like the day I set the curse in place.’ He shuddered at his own words and remembered with a sudden dread that he hadn’t yet told Fergus about the spell that threatened him so personally. Where was he? He must have been forced into this square with the rest.
‘Let’s go closer,’ said Nicola, leading him in a zigzag path between bodies wherever she spotted the slightest space and squeezing a way past when she didn’t, all the time muttering, ‘Excuse me, sorry, please let us through.’
Marcel didn’t realise they’d arrived until his head banged against an obstacle that wouldn’t budge. He stood rubbing his temple while his eyes took in the raised platform and the half-dozen solemn figures at its centre. They were gathered around a person he couldn’t see, until the bodies parted and Demiter stepped forward, showing herself to the crowd. She wore a simple dress with no more frills and bows than a serving girl’s, but made from a shimmering yellow fabric that seemed to attract every ray of sunlight to her alone, and pressing her hair heavily on top of her head was a golden crown.
All eyes turned towards her, shuffling feet stood instantly still, and a thousand complaints suddenly died on bewildered lips.
‘Listen to me, everyone,’ Demiter called to the thousands of faces turned up towards her. ‘Cadell faces terrible danger. If it falls, the entire kingdom of Tamerlane will come under Lord Ismar’s control.’
She paused, staring out anxiously to the edges of the square. But she had spoken strongly, in a voice that seemed to reach every corner. Her people waited to hear more and, finding a confidence that Marcel could only admire, the princess launched into the most important speech she would ever make.
‘If Ismar defeats our army, then I will lose this crown,’ she said, and reaching up she took the symbol of her sovereignty from her head and held it out for them all to see. Then she turned and beckoned one of the men behind her to take it from her hand, as though Lord Ismar had already arrived in Cadell. The gesture had another effect, as well. By surrendering her crown so humbly, Demiter had made herself no different from the people who stood waiting for her next words.
‘But if I lose my crown, all of you will lose a lot more. Lord Ismar will have to reward his followers — he’ll ransack Cadell and steal every last piece of its wealth and property. Whether you fight against him or surrender, whether you are rich or poor, you will be left with nothing.
‘To save ourselves, Cadell must stand united against the enemy at our walls. Right now, we are not united. For many years there have been two Cadells: the town and all its folk here outside those gates, and the citadel behind them. For too long the powerful and the privileged have lived apart and thought only of themselves. This was something my father approved of, but I have called you all into this square today to say that I do not. The time of King Osward has ended. From now on, there is only one Cadell, the town and the citadel together. When the battle
begins, those gates will remain open, there will be no refuge for the mighty, and we will all fight together and win or we will all fall together.’
At this, the crowd erupted in a spontaneous cheer loud enough to be heard in the enemy camp, although Demiter hadn’t won the day just yet, for the cheering came mostly from the townspeople. On the other side of the square, among those who had been herded out from the citadel, the servants and grooms cheered as well, but the more jewellery a woman wore and the finer a man’s clothes, the less enthusiastic that person seemed.
‘But who will command us?’ one of the soldiers shouted from his post at the edge of the crowd. ‘General Lorian was a hero and we trusted him, but he’s deserted us and taken all our plans to Lord Ismar.’
‘Yes, what can you do? You are just a girl,’ cried another.
‘I am a queen,’ Demiter snapped, and even though she wore no crown, there were none in the crowd who could doubt it. She had a more practical answer ready too, and turning to the group of men who supported her in the centre of the platform, she took one of them by the arm and led him to the front.
‘You all know General Kendally,’ said Demiter. ‘My father was wrong to dismiss him as head of the army. He listened to fools who wanted power for themselves and our soldiers have been poorly led ever since. General Kendally is a brave and skilful leader, and even though he was treated so unfairly by King Osward he has remained loyal to my family. As queen, I have appointed the general to lead us against the rebels.’
Marcel stood on his toes and craned his neck, trying to judge the response. ‘It’s working,’ he told Nicola. ‘The soldiers are nodding at one another.’
A chant began among the soldiers, calling the general’s name, and to match it the townsfolk began to shout Demiter’s name, no longer a princess, but their queen.
Queen and general stood side by side while this adulation went on enthusiastically for many minutes. Finally, Demiter said something to the aging soldier and he raised his arms to bring quiet. He was a tall man, and despite thinning grey hair and skin like weathered leather he stood with a bearing that demanded respect. When silence fell across the square once more, he focused his searing eyes on the crowd before him and said, ‘Our soldiers are brave men, but they cannot win the battle alone, so I call on every man in Cadell to join the fighting. Each will be given a weapon from our stores, officers will be appointed from among your own ranks and every man will be assigned a place in the defence of Cadell. Let me see your hands. Who will join us, for Queen Demiter and our city?’
Instantly, the square became an ocean of hands raised above heads. Marcel was amazed to see that not only the men had joined the call, but the women as well; even children younger than him punched the air with their fists. Swelling among that ocean of hands was a determination that had been missing until now. A miserable and defeated people had taken their fate into their own hands, hands that were clenched into fists and remained raised in defiance as though Lord Ismar’s face was imprinted on the sky above them.
Most surprising of all was the sight of so many hands raised eagerly by men in expensive clothes, showing that Demiter’s words had touched where she had most hoped they would. Cadell truly was united at last.
THE TALKING WAS OVER and immediately the people of Cadell began to act on the words of their leaders. Around the square, squads of men formed and elected their own sergeants. When a wagonload of weapons was wheeled in from a side street, it was quickly swamped by these eager fighters wanting a sword or a pike to fight with.
Finn found Marcel and Nicola in the crowd, dragging behind him a reluctant Fergus. ‘Just as well I got to your cousin when I did. He was trying to join one of the new brigades.’
‘I want to fight,’ Fergus told them, undeterred.
‘Not with broken fingers on your sword hand!’ said Marcel, pointing to the bandage that had been used to bind them.
‘I can still use my left,’ Fergus replied defiantly, and drew a sword from his belt to demonstrate, holding it up reverently where it reflected his eager face.
‘Is that the special blade you talked about at the trial?’
‘It certainly is. The guard who arrested me had kept it for himself, until I found him a little while ago and … well, let’s say I persuaded him to give it back.’
‘You should give it to one of these people then,’ said Nicola, ‘because we’re leaving before the battle starts, aren’t we, Finn?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ the young knight replied, his face creased with disappointment. ‘Ismar has sent every ship, every fishing boat, even the smallest rowboat from along the coast, to block the harbour. Our ship can’t get through; no one can.’
‘Then how are we going to escape?’ said Nicola.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t,’ Marcel replied. ‘It’s true that Elster’s in danger — everyone from the king to the lowliest shepherd — but if Ismar becomes king of Tamerlane he’ll be stronger than ever, and no matter how much warning Father has, our army won’t be able to stand against him. If we want to save Elster, we have to stop Ismar here, in Cadell.’
‘That’s exactly why I want to fight,’ said Fergus, holding his sword high. ‘Fight your battles on enemy lands — isn’t that the aim of every soldier, Finn?’ he asked.
While the boys were talking, Finn’s eyes had remained on Nicola. ‘We can do both,’ he said at last.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You have a good point, Marcel — Ismar will only get stronger. If we help to defeat him here, we’re defending Elster more than we could ever do weeks or months from now. But your father should know of the threat all the same, and we have just the way to let him know. Where is the page from the Book of Lies?’
‘I’ve got it here,’ said Nicola, holding up the familiar pouch. ‘I folded it back inside after Damon escaped from the Gilded Hall.’
‘Good, you’ll need it to tie around Gadfly’s neck. You’re going to Elstenwyck to warn your father.’
‘No, I’m not. You’ve only thought this up to get me out of Cadell.’
‘To see that you’re safe, yes, that’s one of the reasons I want you to go,’ said Finn, who’d already learned it was pointless lying to the princess. ‘But King Pelham has to know of Ismar’s plans. You’ll be playing a vital role in the defence of your kingdom.’
‘No, I’m not going. Send Marcel, send Fergus, I’m not leaving you.’
Her last words hung in the air like a roll of unexpected thunder. Even if Nicola hadn’t meant her feelings to come out quite like that, she didn’t try to snatch them back. Finn’s cheeks reddened and he didn’t seem to know where to rest his eyes.
‘It’s all right, Finn, it’s not exactly a secret the way she feels about you,’ said Marcel.
‘Feelings don’t come into it,’ he responded quickly, glad to have an opening where he could take command again. ‘Nicola, you’re the heir to Elster’s throne and you’re in danger here. Gadfly’s wings offer a way out.’
‘I might be a princess but that doesn’t mean anything now. Don’t send me away, Finn,’ she pleaded, dropping her tone of command and speaking to him with all the affection she’d been unable to hide. ‘I’d rather die than go back to Elster without —’ She was looking straight at him but stopped herself and said instead, ‘— without the rest of you. Even if you tie me to Gadfly, I’ll make her turn around and come right back.’
‘You would too, wouldn’t you,’ said Finn with a smile, and he let them all see his own fondness for the princess in the hand he held out for her to grasp. ‘If Marcel is right, no amount of warning will save Elster — and what use is an heir if Damon steals your father’s crown? Stay then and we’ll face Ismar here in Cadell.’
‘And Damon?’ said Fergus.
There was the name again, bringing a groan from Marcel. He still hadn’t been able to tell his cousin of the curse that hung over his hopes of revenge, and with the heady talk of battle in the air he wondered whether Fergus would take any n
otice anyway. If only I had the magic to free him from the curse, Marcel thought, but not even Rhys Tironel had such power.
Thoughts of the Grand Master threw up an unexpected solution, though; one that would not only get Fergus out of the way, but might even save Cadell.
‘If Nicola isn’t going to ride Gadfly to Elster, then I have another journey for her. Fergus, you must go to Noam and tell Rhys Tironel what is happening here.’
‘What difference will that make?’ asked Finn. ‘He already knows that Ismar’s besieged Cadell and he wouldn’t do anything to stop him.’
‘No, but he thought this was a civil war between a king and his subjects. As Grand Master of Noam he couldn’t take sides, but now we know this is more than a civil war. Once Ismar rules Tamerlane he’ll spread misery and death to every land in the Mortal Kingdoms and that’s something the Grand Master will surely want to stop. He has to be told and Fergus is the one to do it.’
Marcel didn’t mention the other part of his plan. If Fergus was on Gadfly’s back and far out over the ocean, he couldn’t use that sword he seemed so fond of to kill Damon.
‘No, I want to be here when the fighting starts,’ said Fergus, confirming all of Marcel’s fears in just a few words, and the harder he argued the sense of his plan, the harder Fergus dug in his heels.
Finally, Finn laid a gentle hand on Marcel’s arm to make him stop. ‘Let’s go back into the citadel. Fergus could probably do with a sleep and something decent to eat.’
‘You’re right about that,’ said Fergus. ‘I haven’t slept in a real bed for months.’
Sleep! Food! Why were they suddenly so important, Marcel wondered, but there was something in the way Finn had intervened that persuaded him to give way.
Back in their rooms, Fergus lay down on Marcel’s bed, but Finn no longer seemed quite so keen to let him rest. ‘Maybe someone else can fly to Noam,’ he suggested without much conviction. ‘General Kendally might know someone brave enough, if we ask him.’
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