The Secret Throne

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘How long were you looking?’

  Felix twitched his whiskers. ‘Three and a half years.’

  ‘Gosh.’ Jemima didn’t really know what else to say. ‘I’m glad it was you who found us.’

  ‘This is Talveral’s tent,’ Felix announced, and pulled back the entrance flap to the tepee.

  Jemima went in. It was hot inside and full of acrid smoke coming from the glowing coals heating a central forge. ‘You might have warned me,’ she said, unbuttoning her coat. She turned round and saw a teenage boy with long white flowing hair holding the tepee flap open behind her. He was dressed in a simple tunic of suede the colour of pine bark, with thin moccasins on his feet.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Are you the apprentice?’

  ‘Blossom Princess!’ a booming voice said.

  Jemima looked round to see Talveral approaching across the tepee; he was a big man with a ruddy sweating face, hands calloused from wielding the heavy tools of his trade. ‘I am Talveral, and I welcome you to my home. Hopefully just a temporary home now you and the Queen-to-be have come.’

  Jemima frowned awkwardly. It was very disturbing to have everyone she met expecting them to bring salvation. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to that. ‘Thank you.’

  She turned back to the apprentice. But the boy had vanished. Felix stood inside the closed tepee flap. His white fur had fluffed out all over from the heat.

  ‘It is such an honour,’ Talveral said. ‘As soon as I heard you were here I knew I had to give you the armour. It is perfect for you.’

  ‘Er, thank you . . .’ Jemima checked round the inside of the tepee, but the white-haired apprentice boy was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘This way, Blossom Princess.’ Talveral gestured with a half-bow, his open, generous face smiling expectantly.

  The athrodene suit was actually a chain-mail vest and trousers. Talveral told her it was made from a piece of an angel’s heart which his great-grandfather claimed to have brought back from the Realm of Air. It had taken decades to craft, he said. First enchanting the piece so that flakes would fall free, then forging each flake into a ring amid flames from the hottest burning coals combined with a secret blend of herbs his family had passed down between them for generations. Indeed, it had been Talveral’s father who started making the armour.

  When Jemima saw the vest and trousers hanging over the side of a chest she could’ve sworn they were a translucent silver, but then when she put them on they’d somehow become a grubby white. She held an arm up, frowning at it. ‘But . . .’

  ‘It blends into the colour of the wearer’s background, Princess,’ Talveral explained proudly. ‘Which makes it very hard to see. And unlike a shadecasting, cannot be counter-charmed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jemima said happily. ‘It’s fabulous. And so light, too.’

  ‘You and your sister are the hope of our Realm,’ Talveral said with a grin. ‘I cannot allow you to be harmed.’

  A minute later Jemima was running across the camp.

  ‘Look at this,’ she exclaimed to Taggie who was saddling up her horse.

  ‘It’s very you,’ Taggie said to her sister, who now looked slightly comical in snow-coloured chain mail made for someone a lot taller and wider.

  ‘Don’t snark,’ Jemima said, and picked up a big stick. She whacked it across her legs. The athrodene mail instantly hardened all over, and the stick rebounded.

  Taggie pursed her lips in admiration. ‘Wow,’ she admitted. ‘That is quite impressive.’ It was also a huge relief: she’d been worried about taking Jemima along, unsure if her own shield invocations could be spun out to include her sister. Now at least she could be confident about any stray arrows and axes.

  ‘Told you,’ Sophie said with a wink as she hovered just above them, her wings a haze, they beat so rapidly. The skymaid was in a very cheery mood. It had taken an hour of pleading, but her father had finally allowed her to accompany them on the trip to Lorothain.

  ‘But no further,’ he’d warned. ‘You are not helping with the prince’s rescue.’

  ‘I understand,’ Sophie had sworn faithfully.

  Wenuthi Jones had dispatched the decoy troop, who would emerge from the Farndorn Forest within the hour, making their noisy way towards the coast a hundred and fifty miles away. Taggie and her small escort, meanwhile, would wind their way quietly through the valleys of the vast forest, and come out on the other side of the hills, fifteen miles or so from the capital city.

  Taggie and Jemima mounted up with the ten rangers chosen as their escort. They had been given a couple of sweet-tempered chestnut mares to ride. Taggie patted and soothed hers as she’d been taught at the riding school a year ago. Mr Anatole slipped easily on to the saddle of his own horse beside her. Felix scampered up on to a saddle-less pony, and held on to its shaggy mane. Talveral the smith and Wenuthi Jones had to help Mrs Veroomes off the top of a wide tree stump and on to her horse. Taggie thought she looked like a gothic gypsy bride as she sat unsteadily in the saddle.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Taggie asked. She wasn’t entirely sure the old seer lady should be coming with them, but didn’t quite know how to say no. Everyone else seemed quite content to have her along. And Jem was already treating her like a substitute grandmother.

  ‘Quite all right, thank you, Majesty,’ Mrs Veroomes replied. ‘Besides, you need me a lot more than you do these fine rangers.’

  Taggie glanced round at the imposing Dolvoki Rangers who were mounting up behind her. ‘I see,’ Taggie said in her best royal tone.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Mrs Veroomes said with a chuckle. ‘But fortunately I do. I will be diverting the sight of the Karrak Ladies. They have been searching this Realm for you from the moment you started dreaming for us last night.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Taggie blushed. And she was sure she could hear Jem sniggering. ‘Thank you.’

  Fifteen of the skyfolk took to the air, scattering wide to keep watch on the ground below. The little convoy moved off into the snow-covered forest. Despite the formidable challenge ahead, Taggie couldn’t help but smile. This was her quest now, and she was determined to see it through to the end, no matter what.

  FOREST CREATURES

  ‘Do you know exactly what I have to do when I sit on the throne?’ Taggie asked Mr Anatole once they were under way. ‘You said once I was sitting on it I could control the nature of the First Realm.’

  Mr Anatole pulled a sad face. ‘From what I understand, Majesty, you don’t do anything. You will simply know or feel what is to be done. The throne will certainly know you.’

  ‘Like the charmsward?’ Taggie asked.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And that’s why it won’t allow Jothran to become King?’

  ‘The throne was forged by Usrith in the shape of a shell. It opens for those who carry his blood.’

  ‘Is Usrith in the throne, like the mages who forged the Great Gateways?’

  ‘I don’t believe so, no. Not every realm has a magical throne. For instance, the throne of the Third Realm exists for the powerful and terrible Sorceress-Queens to maintain strict order among their various ancient houses. Thousands of years ago, after a series of awful wars, the houses agreed to create a single sovereign, and give her absolute authority by combining to forge a throne, thus giving the Sorceress-Queen power over all houses. It was the only way to end the bitter rivalry between the sorceresses. At the time, the feuding and wars they devoted so much effort to were slowly destroying them, and they finally acknowledged that. Today, each house takes it in turn to seat a sorceress on the throne, thus ending the rivalry. While the Giant King of the Ninth Realm keeps the peace among his barons mainly by controlling their money, so his is a throne of wealth. Now, the elves of the Sixth Realm are interesting in that—’

  ‘Mr Anatole,’ Taggie said sternly. She was learning how the old equerry loved his lectures.

  ‘Yes, Majesty?’

  ‘Usrith’s throne?’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Wh
en angels brought people to the First Realm it was a wild, untamed existence. The moonclouds twirled and frothed chaotically, dancing around the sun to no rhythm but their own. There were no seasons. No order. One day it could be as hot as high summer, while the next could bring snow or hurricanes. Nobody could farm properly, or even rely on day and night being regular. Usrith forged the shell throne to tame the moonclouds for the benefit of all. It was a monumental task, even for a mage of his power, and by the time he finished he was old and tired. He stood aside so his daughter, Lucithe, could be the first Queen. A fey and lovely girl, and according to legend a wondrous healer. Some claimed she was an animal talker, or perhaps part-elf, while others say it was her natural kindness which gave her so much joy from life. Watching her father strive so hard and selflessly bestowed her with great compassion, which the shell throne enriched. When she was Queen she devoted herself to nurturing the sick and injured of all the First Realm’s people without prejudice. Her daughter carried on the tradition. Now the ability has become part of your bloodline, Majesty. While princes can always sit on the throne and calm the moonclouds, only Queens can ease our dreams.’

  ‘So my father can actually sit on the throne?’

  ‘Yes – though the situation is a difficult one. The people of the First Realm are accustomed to Queens. Your grandmother was the eighth Queen in succession, the longest unbroken line in our history. Before that there were short gaps where princes ruled while their daughters grew to age. But everyone knew there was a Queen-to-be, and was content with that. With Prince Dino missing, and the succession unknown, it has been a troubled time since your grandmother passed away.’

  Taggie stared up through the frosty branches at the bruised grey sky above the forest. ‘Which Jothran and the other Karrak Lords took advantage of?’

  ‘Yes, Majesty, I’m afraid so. Without anyone sitting on the shell throne, the rhythms of the moonclouds, which had been established over generations, became fragile. You have already felt the power of Karrak wizardry. The Karraks use their powers to distort the gentle hold your family once exerted upon the moonclouds; yet these moonclouds twist and churn as they strive to return to their natural state. All Jothran can do is hold them fast, and squeeze them together, which aids him greatly. But what he desires most is for the throne to open to him, and its full power to be his alone. If he succeeds, this Realm will be swallowed by permanent darkness. To sleep will be to know fear.’

  ‘But the shell throne remains closed against him?’ Taggie said.

  ‘Yes. It knows the heirs of Usrith are still alive, for it is bound to you no matter where you live. If he is to open the shell and sit upon it, that blood bond must be broken.’

  Taggie gave Jemima a guilty glance, seeing her sister chatting away to the Dolvoki Ranger unlucky enough to be riding beside her. The poor man looked very bemused. ‘So if I die, Jem could sit on the throne?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘So there is still hope.’

  ‘Majesty,’ Mr Anatole said with great difficulty. ‘The risk from both of you venturing into the palace to rescue your father . . .’

  ‘I know,’ Taggie said in a tiny voice.

  Piadrow flew down through the branches to hover beside Taggie. ‘Majesty, my folk report a band of elves are gathering in the forest some way ahead. They seem to know you are close by and have asked us if they can meet you.’

  ‘What do we do about them?’ Taggie asked, intrigued. She recalled countless stories and films featuring elves – they were all noble woodland folk who sang and made merry, but could also be fearsome warriors.

  Mr Anatole and Wenuthi Jones exchanged a troubled look.

  ‘There is no doubt they would make excellent allies,’ Wenuthi Jones said slowly. ‘If they were interested.’

  ‘Ah, they don’t concern themselves with the problems of mortals,’ Taggie said. This time she caught the glance they exchanged.

  ‘Not often, Majesty, no,’ Wenuthi Jones said. ‘They have their own . . . problems.’

  Taggie knew she was missing something. ‘Felix, should we meet them?’

  Felix joined in the exchange of awkward looks with Wenuthi Jones and Mr Anatole; his tail flopped from one side of his pony to the other. ‘I don’t see any reason to do so, ma’am,’ he said cautiously. ‘But then, equally, there’s no reason not to. They won’t betray us to the Karraks, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Taggie turned to Piadrow. ‘You say they want to meet me?’

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  ‘Very well. If it won’t delay us for too long.’ Taggie spurred her horse on, excitement rising in her blood. Elves! The most elegant and the wisest of all mythical folk. And she was going to see them.

  The music came first. Just as it should do, Taggie thought. It was how people always stumbled across elves. They’d be marching through the woodlands on some magical adventure, laughing and dancing on the grass under silver moonlight.

  She strained to hear the words. It was difficult. The melody was hard to make out: there were several voices singing, but not quite in harmony – which was odd. Perhaps mortal ears simply can’t appreciate such ethereal beauty? she thought. But no, the tempo wasn’t so good either. And now they drew close the lyrics were growing disturbingly familiar . . .

  ‘Is that “Stairway to Heaven”?’ she asked herself. It was one of Dad’s favourites from his huge collection of old vinyl albums. He didn’t have any CDs, and the concept of digital downloads mystified him.

  A guitar was being strummed, which seemed ridiculously out of place in the bleak false winter gripping the forest. She looked across at Mrs Veroomes, who wore an expression that was pure schoolmistress disapproval.

  When they reached the clearing where the elves were encamped, an amazing sight greeted them. There were elves everywhere, yet they were almost impossible to see. They blended into the tree trunks so perfectly. And not only the trunks, Taggie realized; the gaps between the trees were also their natural habitat, taking on their texture. Or they took on the texture of the gaps – she wasn’t sure. But it brought a delighted smile to her lips. Truly they were magical creatures.

  With really tuneless voices. And dressed in weird clothes that were all loops of rainbow-shaded cloth with silver and gold woven through. All the better to cavort about as if they were drunk. Which surely they could not be. Not elves.

  Taggie’s smile faded somewhat at their oafish behaviour. But she marvelled at their astonishing midnight-black hair. It didn’t grow on the side of their heads above their ears (pointed ears, she was relieved to see), but to make up for that, the plume (no other way to describe it) of hair on the top of their head grew back into a thick tail that dangled down to the waist.

  A loud wobbly cheer went up when she rode her horse into the clearing.

  ‘Yo, she’s here!’ a voice shouted out.

  Now the elves were clambering to their feet – some of them took several attempts. But once they did stand up, there wasn’t one of them under seven feet tall.

  ‘Little Queen, welcome.’

  ‘Oh wow. It is her.’

  ‘Hey, it’s the blossom one, too. Cool!’

  ‘Er, Taggie . . . ’ Jemima whispered. ‘Are they really elves?’

  ‘It’s good to see you, Queen-to-be.’

  ‘Um . . .’ Taggie answered uncertainly.

  ‘Felix Weldowen,’ one elf said in a slurred voice. ‘Still not lifted that curse, huh, dude?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ Felix said irritably.

  ‘Hello there,’ a voice said smoothly at Taggie’s side.

  She turned, trying not to jump. One of the elves was standing beside her, and even though she was on horseback she still had to look up at his face. His skin was a lustrous dark brown – he was the most handsome person she’d ever seen.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Taggie said.

  ‘Earl Maril’bo,’ he said with a charming smile as he swept a hand round, gesturing at the other elves. ‘And this
is my band. You must be our new little Queen-to-be.’

  ‘I am,’ she said, smiling back, conveniently ignoring the whole little thing.

  Sophie came fluttering down next to them, hovering so her head was level with the elf’s. ‘Maril’bo, hi.’

  ‘Sophs, gimme five. Good to see you, girl.’

  They smacked hands.

  ‘This is my friend, Taggie, our new Queen-to-be,’ Sophie told him.

  ‘Let me help you down,’ Earl Maril’bo said.

  Taggie allowed him to lift her off the saddle. When she was on the ground, her head barely came up above his waist.

  ‘Thank you for showing up here to see us, little Queen-to-be,’ he said. ‘That says a lot about you. I can understand you’re kinda busy right now.’

  ‘Oh you know how it is . . . thrones to reclaim, bad guys to thwart.’ Taggie bit her lip, not knowing where a sentence that stupid had come from.

  ‘I feel the need, I really do. Those Karrak dudes are bad to the bone – and that’s a lot of bone under those spooky cloaks of theirs.’

  ‘So do you rule the elves of the First Realm?’ Taggie asked.

  Maril’bo’s laugh was a lovely deep rich sound. ‘Oh no, little Queen-to-be, I don’t rule anything. But I am, like, the top arrow skimmer out of all these slackers.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Taggie gave him a closer look. Two of the colourful cloth hoops crossed his chest like bandoliers, with semi-circular daggers and throwing-firestars in holster pockets. Another strap held a bright silver oval shield across his back, almost as tall as he was. In fact, every elf was carrying a similar shield and weapons. ‘What’s a skimmer?’ she asked.

  Maril’bo patted the shield proudly. ‘No kidding you, little Queen-to-be: you see, you’re looking at the champion surfer out of at least ten Realms.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve just been surfing at the seaside myself,’ Taggie said, hoping he’d approve. ‘There were some good waves in Cornwall.’