‘Strength,’ she whispered. And there was Mr Koimosi, her own memory for once, scolding her as always that she must use her opponent’s strength against them. She dived frantically into the charmsward’s memories, searching for something she could use. There were so many memories, so many spells and enchantments. She had to find something. The whole First Realm depended on it. On her. There had to be something. Somewhere!
Mr Anatole was fifty metres from the Majpan Bridge. In front of him, the King of Night’s soldiers were lining up in heavy ranks to stop Lorothain’s citizen army from going any further. Ethanu officers barked sharp orders, and swords were drawn. Bows were stretched back. Arrows aimed. The sight of so many soldiers moving in unison with such deadly purpose was deeply intimidating.
Facing them through the soft snowfall, the first rank of men on either side of Mr Anatole raised their enchanted shields. The moment stretched out.
A violent wind rose from nowhere, driving the snow into both armies like a blast of thorns. Above them, the gigantic clouds were tumbling away. A slender sunbeam reached down through the expanding gap to touch the middle of the palace.
‘Our Queen-to-be!’ Mr Anatole howled.
‘Our Queen,’ came the almighty shout behind him. The army from Lorothain charged forward, and it was all Mr Anatole could do to stay on his feet as he was swept along. Arrows flew. The two armies slammed into each other, and swords and knives slashed and bit and stabbed. Mr Anatole was buffeted between fights, desperately trying to dodge swords swung by men from both sides. ‘Rathwai!’ the cry arose. ‘Rathwai are coming.’ Mr Anatole looked up to see the vile creatures sinking out of the chaotic sky. Talons as big as him opened wide, ready to grab.
Twenty miles distant from Lorothain, Earl Maril’bo sat cross-legged, close to the edge of the Jaribal cliffs – a mile-high precipice that in better days gave a perfect view across the pretty countryside to the city. Today all that it revealed was darkness and dreary snow. He didn’t bother looking at anything. His eyes were closed, allowing him to see inwards.
So it was that Earl Maril’bo waited patiently, his hands resting on his knees, palms upward. The members of his band were beside him, spread out along the top of the cliff, waiting in silence. Elves could wait for decades if they had to. Time wasn’t as important to them as it was to mortal races of the realms.
Then somewhere in the darkness above, a crack appeared in the murky shell of moonclouds. A crack opened by a strange, foreign kind of magic. Sunlight fell on to the palace of the First Realm once again. Just a thin beam to be sure. But sunlight nevertheless.
Earl Maril’bo opened his eyes. ‘Our Queen-to-be brings us light,’ he said. As he rose, he pulled his mirror board off his back, and dropped it down on the snow at his feet.
The memories within the charmsward flashed through Taggie’s mind. So many of them – so many ancestors offering up what they believed might help. She was far back through the generations now, and still she’d found nothing.
Around her in the throne room, the Karraks were recovering from the rush of light she had summoned. Lords and Ladies stood up proud again; then, ominously silent, they slid slowly towards the great column of sunlight that shone down on Taggie and the rescue party.
‘What do we do?’ Sophie asked desperately as her wings began to vibrate. Every strand of her red hair was stretching out around her head like a thick halo as she drew her dagger, ready to fight for the Queen-to-be.
‘Use their strength against them,’ Taggie told her. Right at the end of the charmsward’s memories Usrith himself was waiting. Taggie saw him, old and frail, yet perfectly content as he stood beside the newly forged shell throne. It opened so that his daughter Lucithe could sit upon it. He smiled at his success, seeming to look directly at Taggie. And finally she remembered everything she needed.
Mr Koimosi would have been proud of her. She stared right at Lord Jothran. ‘You want me?’ she growled the challenge. ‘Come and get me.’
‘Taggie . . .’ her father moaned in warning.
‘I will be the next Queen of Dreams,’ she said calmly. On her wrist, the charmsward bands were spinning quickly and smoothly. Each symbol glowed a proud and vibrant turquoise. Water aligning with rock, which aligned with the sun. Then came the triangle symbol clicking neatly into place. The infinity sign . . . ‘Believe in me.’
‘Oh but I don’t,’ Jothran told her. ‘Brothers. Sisters. Together now.’
The eerie, quivering black-and-silver silhouettes of the Karraks glided to a halt surrounding the cylinder of sunlight. They raised their arms in unison to expose hands with ring-covered fingers that flexed like crab-legs. Twenty-seven immensely powerful death spells streamed out, each one aimed directly at Taggie.
The enormous strength of Karrak wizardry struck her, and the surge of magical energy was far greater than she expected, scorching her skin as it flooded across her. She cried out in pain. Her father steadied her before she could fall, but thanks to Usrith’s guidance spell, the power flowed directly into the charmsward, causing the symbols to flare incandescently.
‘Best you can do?’ she asked Jothran in a shaky voice.
Jothran was now done toying with his prey. His mouth parted wide, and his sharp silver teeth lengthened into menacing fangs. ‘Brothers, sisters – again!’
The death spells slammed into Taggie once more. She cried out at the top of her voice. This time she fell. The circle of sunlight on the black-and-white marble floor shrank. She couldn’t lift her arm. The magic absorbed by the charmsward had a terrible weight all of its own. Each symbol shone with a poisonous orange light. Her skin blistered beneath the bands.
Jothran pressed home his advantage. The Karraks skated in closer as the sunlight contracted. Death spells were cast again.
Even though she’d been knocked to all fours, whimpering at the pain, Taggie caught sight of Lord Golzoth. He was frowning as if he suspected something wasn’t quite right, turning away from his brothers and sisters.
‘You weaken,’ Jothran gloated at Taggie.
Taggie raised her head, and grinned at the King of Night, a grin that told him just how wrong he was. ‘Actually, I don’t. Thanks for the energy boost, I couldn’t have done this without you.’
The charmsward bands spun. Six sun symbols lined up, each ablaze with pure white light. Taggie thrust her arm upward. There was no memory to follow – this was her own spell, and because Usrith understood how to shape raw magic, so did she. ‘Burn hot,’ she ordered the incredible power boiling inside the charmsward. ‘And burn bright.’
SHINING LIGHT ON THE PROBLEM
All the magic in the death spells which the Karrak Lords and Ladies had flung at Taggie burst out of her charmsward at once, streaming up through the glass dome of the throne room and into the sky above. But now the power was shaped the way she wanted it.
The dense shroud of moonclouds held in place by Karrak wizardry scattered like minnows before a shark. A wonderful blaze of sunlight shone across the whole of the First Realm again. Then Taggie’s spell poured into the very sun itself. It began to shine brighter and brighter.
In the throne room, the broad beam of light shining through the crystal roof started to expand rapidly, chasing the fleeing Karraks as the desperate Lords and Ladies flung themselves for the doors and whatever shade they could find.
There was none.
As the sunlight flooded into every part of the palace, it grew until it was such a powerful glare that even Taggie had to cover her eyes. Somewhere close by, she heard the cries of the stricken Karraks as the deadly light struck them. The horrible sounds of sizzling began.
Earl Maril’bo didn’t shield his eyes from the new and splendid dawn. He smiled up at the amazing brilliance, opening his arms in greeting. ‘Our Queen-to-be brings us rain,’ he declared.
The snow that was falling all around began to melt under the intense light. Every flake turned to rain. Rainbows bloomed right across the First Realm. Thick, vivid rainbows that
stretched from the ground right up to the top of the atmosphere, swirling and shimmering.
Earl Maril’bo jumped on to his mirror board, which went swooshing down the short icy slope. It shot out over the edge of the massive cliff, and sliced through the Realm-encircling rainbow, jetting out a spray of kaleidoscopic sparks in its wake.
Other members of his band followed him, ripping their way through the dazzling sky. Together they hurtled down towards the city of Lorothain that sprawled far below.
On the Majpan Bridge, it had been going badly for the ragtag Lorothain army. The rathwai fell mercilessly on the townspeople, yanking them up into the sky and sending them tumbling to crash brokenly on roofs and streets. Beaks the size of canoes snapped and crunched. The King of Night’s soldiers poured into the gaps torn by the rathwai, taking advantage of the panic.
Mr Anatole was clubbed to the ground, where he lay grazed and bruised. Many boots stomped on him as the battle raged. One of the rathwai demolished a nearby building, sending a torrent of stone, timbers and slate pouring on to the street, crushing soldiers of both sides.
Then the moonclouds erupted. Light shone down, and Mr Anatole had to put up his arm to protect his eyes from the glorious white heat. The fighting stopped for a long wonderful minute, and awestruck silence claimed Lorothain.
Slowly the light shrank back to the brightness of a normal summer afternoon. Dazed soldiers began to look round as the snow turned to rain which pattered down on the frozen city.
Mr Anatole saw the soldiers gather themselves again. Those in the King of Night’s army were turning to look anxiously at the palace. The revolting frost fungus that had spread across its walls and turrets was seething and evaporating, leaving behind layers of black soot.
Ethanu, who had nothing to lose, shouted harsh commands. The Lorothain army saw its hated oppressors bringing up their swords, and battle resumed in the vivid pouring rain. Mr Anatole tried crawling across the slippery snow as his sodden robes flapped around him. He managed to pick up a short sword from a dead soldier, and looked round at the men fighting so ferociously.
‘Oh my Queen,’ he groaned. ‘This should not be.’ He staggered up to his feet. ‘She sits upon the throne,’ he called amid the noise and fury and blood. No one listened to him. ‘It is over.’ One of the Ethanu was staring at him. ‘Surrender,’ Mr Anatole implored. ‘Help stop this.’
The Ethanu raised an arm. Bright gold sunlight was reflected off his wire-rimmed glasses as he started chanting a death spell . . .
Then he was gone, snatched away into the sky by giant talons.
Mr Anatole gaped at the sight, not understanding. A second later he had to throw himself to the ground as another rathwai swooped down low. It had no Karrak Lord rider to direct it any more. More of the savage creatures started to attack the city. Enraged by the sunlight, the rathwai were going berserk, not caring who they killed.
Soldiers from both sides fought the rathwai as well as each other. The creatures attacked buildings, reducing them to rubble. Children cried in terror. Mr Anatole stumbled through the chaos. The huge battle descended into a madness from which nobody could escape. ‘Elves!’ went up the shout. ‘The elves are coming.’ Mr Anatole looked up to see the amazing sight of an entire band of elves surfing along the colossal rainbow that filled the sky. Great sprays of glittering light fountained out from the back of their mirror boards as they zoomed forward. They began to pull firestars from their bandoliers, and sent them skimming through the colourful rain. The little discs expanded rapidly as they shot across the rooftops, turning into flaming circles that sliced into the rathwai. Earl Maril’bo’s first shot decapitated one of the beasts, and its corpse crashed on to the frozen river Trambor, smashing straight through the ice.
The elves curved gracefully through the air and flung another batch of firestars. The surviving rathwai flapped their leathery wings frantically, seeking to escape into the torrential downpour. Several more were brought down. Then the elves were surfing tight over the heads of the battling soldiers. They held curving blades in their fists, blades that slashed down to cut effortlessly through any enchantment shields the Ethanu attempted to spin.
With their officers decimated, ordinary soldiers of the King of Night threw down their weapons and finally surrendered. Amid huge cheers of welcome, the elves skidded down on to the ground. Bells were ringing right across the city to celebrate the liberation.
Mr Anatole was shaking from shock and surprise as Earl Maril’bo bounced his mirror board on the slippery ice of the boulevard in front of him. The huge elf smiled down at the sodden, battered old equerry. ‘Dude, how’s it hanging?’
Taggie risked taking her arm away from her face. It was still bright in the throne room, but not blindingly so. Around her, the Dolvoki Rangers were peering about with equal uncertainty.
A nasty brown vapour was rippling through the air. Jemima waved her hand in front of her nose in dismay. ‘That really pongs,’ she exclaimed.
‘Price of victory,’ Felix said in a voice that had no sorrow whatsoever.
Taggie eyed the oval mounds of smouldering ash that were scattered across the throne room floor. All of them were studded with sunglasses and gaudy rings. Beyond the three doors, in the great hallways of the palace, regiments of soldiers were slowly starting to glance round. When they saw the tarnished jewellery glinting amid the ash they understood exactly what had happened to their dark masters. Frightened eyes peered at her and her tiny escort of Dolvoki Rangers.
Their indecision wouldn’t last long, Taggie knew, and there were an awful lot of them. The charmsward bands unlocked their six-sun combination – lining up doors with stone. ‘Olzet,’ she murmured.
All three of the throne room doors slammed shut, the noise reverberating throughout the palace. Huge iron bolts slid across, sealing them securely.
‘I was about to do that,’ her father said.
‘I know, Dad.’
He put his arms round both sisters, hugging them tight. ‘You were utterly amazing. You know that, don’t you?’
Taggie grinned up at him as a colossal feeling of relief swept through her. She didn’t ever want him to let her go. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
He kissed her brow, then took her and Jemima by the hand and walked towards the dais. As the three of them drew near, the pearl-white shell throne let out a soft creak. The upper half slowly hinged upward to reveal the purple and scarlet silk cushions.
Wenuthi Jones dropped to one knee; the rest of the rangers followed his example. Felix bowed low, his teeth chittering in excitement.
‘Your throne and realm awaits, Queen-to-be,’ Prince Dino said, and smiled encouragement. He looked melancholy and elated at the same time.
Taggie stared at the throne for a moment, suddenly frightened again by everything it resembled, everything she’d have to do for the rest of her life. ‘Daddy . . . ?’
‘Well, go on,’ Jemima said impatiently. ‘Sit on it. Honestly, Taggie!’
And Taggie was laughing at her sister. Then she took a breath and, still smiling, lowered herself on to the soft cushions of the shell throne of the First Realm.
‘Long live the Queen of Dreams,’ Prince Dino and the Blossom Princess said in unison.
Taggie beamed at them, and wiped away the moisture welling up in the corner of her eye. This time it was the memories of the shell throne itself, not those of the charmsward, that bubbled through her mind: the grand coronations of Queens past, when the throne room was filled with the people of the First Realm dressed in their finest robes and gowns and uniforms. All through the Realm there had been day-long festivities and pageants and parties. Exalted guests from other Realms had attended the banquet after the ceremony. Every child had been handed a specially minted celebration coin. In all the Realm’s cities, towns and villages, buildings were decked out in colourful flags and bunting. And there was music everywhere, with singers and minstrels and orchestras and bands playing non-stop so everybody could dance merrily. That was the
grandiose way it always had been, making it the greatest day of every generation.
Taggie let out a long sigh, slightly sad that she hadn’t come to the throne amid such a spectacle. But despite that, she knew she was now the Queen of Dreams – not just because who her parents were, but because she had earned it. That made everything worthwhile.
THE FLOWERS OF VICTORY
Two days later, Jemima, Felix and Mrs Veroomes were walking through the palace grounds. The sun shone warmly overhead and the snow and ice were melting away, making the ground slippery with slush. Even Jemima had to admit it had been an astonishing two days.
After Taggie and the others had spent three hours barricaded in the throne room, Mr Anatole had arrived at the palace, leading the elves along with most of Lorothain’s residents. The King of Night’s army had formally surrendered. They’d been disarmed, and taken down into the dungeons. All across the First Realm, the people who’d followed the Karrak Lords, believing their promises of profit and glory, melted away like the dwindling snow.
Towns and villages around the Great Gateways reported a huge number of creatures and people passing through, returning to wherever they’d come from. Courts were set up for the King of Night’s soldiers, who received work sentences so they could usefully repair some of the damage they’d caused, before they were banished from the First Realm. A surprising number asked for permission to stay after their sentences finished, which Taggie granted.
Refugees who’d spent weeks and months hiding out in woods and caves returned home to joyful reunions with their neighbours. Everyone started stripping off the slimy remains of frost fungus from their homes, throwing it on to huge bonfires, whose meagre blue flames and putrid smoke lasted for months.
The Secret Throne Page 18
