The Warden and the Wolf King

by Andrew Peterson

  “This stone,” Janner said evenly, “has caused us nothing but trouble. It’s the reason half the world has fallen to ruin. I would be happy to see it cast into the darkness.” Janner squinted an eye at the window opposite the door. “Now. Let us out of here, or it’s going over. Kal, stab any Fangs that try to block that window.”

  Kalmar nodded and pointed his sword at the window. The Fangs peeking in retreated.

  “You won’t do it!” Khrak shouted. “We’ll leave you to rot in that cage!”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Ships and sharks, remember?”

  “What does that mean?” Khrak shouted.

  “It means there’s always a way out, like I told you.” Janner smiled.

  “Not always,” Khrak said.

  “Not for you,” Janner said. “But we’re in the Maker’s keeping. Even if we die trying, death is just another way out. But you? You’ll just turn to dust.”

  “You’ll die,” Khrak said. “Just like your father Esben.”

  “His death,” Kalmar said, “was glorious. So be it.”

  Khrak said nothing. After a moment, he nodded at the other Fangs. They backed away, all but the one with the key. “Vark,” Khrak said, “open the door, then back away. Don’t let them near the cliff.”

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Kalmar whispered.

  “I have no idea.” Janner took a deep breath. “Just stay close to the edge.”

  “You’d really throw the stone away?” Kalmar asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  The Fang removed the padlock and opened the door.

  70

  The Crags at Castle Rock

  Janner and Kal looked warily at General Khrak and his guards. If the Fangs attacked and Janner threw the stone into the shaft, there was a good chance that he and Kalmar might follow it over the edge to their deaths. But Gnag seemed to want them alive—and that was a strange comfort.

  “Let’s go already,” Kalmar said. He stepped out of the gondola and raised his sword. “Get back! Do it, or my brother will throw the stone!”

  The Fangs retreated several paces, and Janner followed Kalmar into the open. The boys stood with their backs against gondola, and behind them they heard the rustle of wind as it billowed down into the throat of the chasm. Kalmar stepped to the right and edged along the brink, beckoning for Janner to follow. The Fangs hissed and crouched, ready to spring at Khrak’s command. The brothers stood at the edge of the black abyss, swords ready, the stone cradled in Janner’s open hand.

  But Khrak’s malevolent eyes were fixed on Janner’s face—not the stone. Then Janner noticed that the other three Fangs were squinting, averting their eyes from its glow as if they were afraid of it. When Janner lifted the stone level with his head, Khrak squinted too, then quickly shifted his gaze to Kalmar’s face, then to the floor.

  The light troubled the Fangs. Either its power was frightening or its beauty was repulsive. Janner took a quick step forward and waved the stone at them. They recoiled. Khrak hissed and bared his teeth.

  “Stay close,” Janner whispered to Kalmar.

  They stepped forward, and the Fangs backed away.

  “Sing something,” Janner said.

  “Huh?”

  “Sing something—something Annieran.”

  “I can’t sing,” Kalmar said. “You sing something.”

  Janner racked his brain, but it was blank. “Leeli’s always singing. Can’t you remember something?”

  “How about ‘The Crags at Castle Rock’?”

  “Perfect.”

  Janner didn’t like singing any more than Kal did. Whenever they had been forced to sing, they usually let Leeli do all the work. But a moment later, the brothers clumsily sang the first verse.

  The rain that rakes the ocean span

  The sun that breaks and warms the land

  The bows that bound from cliff to cliff

  The grass that greens the stone and sand

  The bells that ring in the tower clock

  The swallows that sing to the swooping flock

  And circle the mast of the sailing skiff

  All hallow the Maker of Castle Rock

  The Fangs clutched the sides of their heads and hissed.

  “What’s the next verse?” Janner inched forward, toward the distant archway. Kalmar began singing again, and Janner joined him.

  When the waves march in and beat the brow

  Of the headland stones I remember how

  In the summer we stood on the windy dune

  As the daylight broke and we made the vow

  To return to Castle Rock someday

  No matter how far was our home away

  We would go there together and sing a tune

  To sound of the bells in the light of the moon

  For the praise of the Maker who gave us the boon

  Of the summer we spent on the northern bay

  One of the Fangs retched. Khrak whacked it with the flat of his blade. “It’s only a song, you fool!”

  It was the moment Janner had been hoping for. “Run!” he shouted.

  Janner and Kalmar darted between the reeling Fangs and ran for the arched door. But as soon as the song stopped and Janner’s fist closed over the stone, the Fangs recovered and gave chase while Khrak bellowed curses.

  Kalmar reached the door before Janner and began pulling it shut. Janner could hear the Fangs at his heels and knew he wouldn’t make it. One of the Fangs snagged his Durgan cloak and jerked him backward, pulling him from his feet. Janner felt pain in his throat where his cloak choked him, then a flash in his shoulder when he hit the ground, and then he saw a burst of light. The stone had flown from his hand.

  “THE RAIN THAT RAKES THE OCEAN SPAN,” Kalmar half-screamed, half-sang. “THE SUN THAT BREAKS AND WARMS THE LAND . . .”

  Janner saw stars, felt claws on his arms and legs, and heard the hissing of Fangs as he struggled to his feet. He tried to grab his sword, but his hands didn’t seem to work properly. When he finally had the hilt in his grip he thrust the sword blindly and heard a shriek. Clutching at his throat, he staggered to his feet, coughing from the bitter dust floating in the air as Kalmar sang at the top of his lungs.

  “THE BOWS THAT BOUND FROM CLIFF TO CLIFF, THE GRASS THAT GREENS THE STONE AND SAND . . .”

  When Janner’s vision cleared, he saw that there were only two Fangs left. He had killed one, and Kalmar had killed another. Khrak and the other remaining Fang were hunkered over, shielding their eyes from the stone—which was now in Kalmar’s hand—and clutching their ears. Janner was tempted to cover his ears, too, so awful was the sound of Kal’s frantic, tuneless singing. Leeli would have been deeply offended.

  Janner ran through the archway and helped Kalmar heave the huge oaken door closed. Khrak lunged toward them, and Janner thrust Rudric’s sword through the door’s narrowing gap. Khrak’s lean lizard face pressed into the opening, snapping at the boys and spewing venom.

  “Pull!” Janner screamed, and the boys struggled with all their might. Janner let go of his sword so he could use both hands on the handle, but the sword didn’t fall—it was embedded in Khrak’s chest. As the boys watched, the old Fang’s eyes clouded over, his skin dried, his tongue cracked and hardened, and, with one final tug on the door, General Khrak’s head exploded in a spray of dust.

  Janner yanked his sword out of the breach and the door slammed shut. Kalmar shoved the crossbeam into place and locked it tight.

  Janner slid to the floor, gasping for breath. Kalmar wasn’t winded, but his eyes were wide with fear. He sniffed the air, clutching the stone in one hand.

  They listened at the door, but all they heard was the worried muttering of the one remaining Fang. “General? Oh, maggotmeal. General Khrak?” They heard the Fang’s footsteps as it ran away.

  “You all right?” Kalmar asked, pulling Janner to his feet.

  “I think so.”

  Janner’s neck burned and his cloak was torn, but he wa
sn’t wounded. He sheathed his sword and looked around. They were in a long, arched corridor of gleaming flagstones lined with white statues of many strange creatures. There were toothy cows, digtoads, chorkneys, bomnubbles and cave blats, all on pedestals in fearsome poses. Other than the statues, they were alone.

  At least, they thought they were.

  “That was a wonderful song,” said a familiar voice that sent chills down Janner’s spine. “Welcome to Castle Throg, boys.” An old man hobbled out from behind one of the statues. “What a delight to see you again.”

  71

  Spidifer

  “Squoon!” Janner’s heart steamed with anger. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Squoon chuckled. “A great many things weresupposedto happen. I wassupposedto marry Madia, but I didn’t. Gnag the Nameless wassupposedto make me into a spider, but he wouldn’t, no matter how I begged. Though I served him for years, though I escaped your foul father, though I swam to shelter, though I made my way over rock and sand to Yorsha Doon, though I crossed the Chasm and rode the chains to Throg, Gnag wouldn’t meld me! But he wassupposed to.”

  Bonifer Squoon hobbled closer. He looked older than he had in Ban Rona, and wickeder, too. His eyes were wild and terrible, bloodshot and twitching. He was dressed in the same suit he had worn the night he had betrayed the Wingfeathers and all of the Hollows—the night he had kidnapped the children and aided in the death of their father. Gone was the sweet old man with the scholarly bearing. Now he looked like what he had been all along: a murderer, a treacherous shell of a man.

  He took a step nearer and waggled his fingers at Janner. “I know you have the stone,” he said. “Give it to me.”

  “Why?” Janner tried to take a step backward but thudded into the door.

  Kalmar stepped forward and brandished his sword. “Get back, Squoon. And tell us how to get out of here. We need to get to Ban Rona.”

  “It’s useless, boy. Gnag is gone. He’s off to fetch your sister.” Squoon stretched out his bony hand to Kalmar. “Now give me the stone!”

  Squoon was carrying something under his arm. Janner could see a small rusty box the size of a brick, tucked up against the old man’s heart. Then Squoon began to sing. He sang the song of the ancient stones, his raspy, old voice giving it a dark and sinister tone.

  “Quiet!” Janner shouted.

  But Squoon smiled and sang louder as he inched toward Kalmar. He sang the song wildly, scrabbling at Kalmar’s fist and prying open his fingers. Janner tried to pull Bonifer away, but the old man was stronger than he looked.

  There was one quick flash of the stone as Bonifer, still wildly singing, twisted Kal’s fingers and at the same time opened the little box. Out crawled a shiny black spider the size of a small bird. It crawled up Bonifer’s arm and onto his face just as the light flashed. Janner and Kalmar screamed and backed away.

  Bonifer’s twisted song turned into twisted laughter as an unnatural smoke swirled around him. He wiggled on the floor like a happy child. The smoke pooled on the floor and clouded around Bonifer.

  “We need to get out of here,” Janner said.

  Then eight long, glistening spider legs unfolded from the smoke. Bonifer’s torn clothing hung from them in shreds. The black legs flexed and then lifted the hairy, pulsating form to which they were attached. The triumphant face of Bonifer Squoon was fused to the spider’s bloated abdomen, and on his cheeks were eyes, dozens of them, black and lidless.

  The Squoonish thing lifted its front legs and admired them with happy wonder then slowly turned and fixed the brothers with a yellow-toothed smile. “There,” he said in a scratchy voice. “That’s better.”

  The brothers snatched their swords from the floor and ran.

  “Put this in your pocket! I don’t want it,” Kalmar cried as they bolted along the corridor, dodging weird creatures that looked at them with surprise. Kalmar thrust the stone at Janner, who jammed it into his pocket. Janner glanced over his shoulder and saw the Bonifer-spider flexing its wobbly legs and turning their way.

  The corridor led to a wide, ornate stairway that split at the top and led in opposite directions.

  “Which way?” Kalmar shouted.

  “I don’t know! Go right!”

  They took the stairs two at a time until they came to the top and found themselves in some sort of armory. The walls were lined with racks of swords and spears, all of which seemed utterly useless against a giant spider.

  Janner and Kalmar sprinted to the opposite end of the armory and paused to catch their breath. “There has to be a way off this mountain,” Janner said. “Do you smell anything? A way out or something?”

  Kalmar sniffed. “I smell—him. Bonifer, or whatever it is.” He sniffed again. “And I smell trolls. Lots of them.”

  “Which way?”

  Kalmar closed his eyes, then pointed to the left.

  “That’s where we’re going.”

  “Huh?” Kalmar said.

  “They’re probably guarding the way out.”

  “BOYS.” Bonifer’s corrupted, spidery voice rattled through the air. “I’M HUNGRY.”

  “Come on!” Janner grabbed Kal’s arm and ran from the armory into a banquet hall littered with piles of rotten food. There were no Fangs in sight. At the far end of the hall, above the entrance and near the ceiling, was a row of narrow windows that opened onto the sky. The sight of those little patches of beautiful, clear blue brought a lump into Janner’s throat, and he realized that he had come to believe that he would never see the sky again.

  They dashed across the hall, slipping on rotten food strewn on the floor. When they reached the door, Kalmar whined.

  “What is it?” Janner asked.

  “Trolls. Just outside.”

  Behind them, the door to the banqueting hall burst into splinters. Squoon ducked through the archway and stretched to his full height. The Bonifer-spider scooped up a pile of rotting food and raised it to his mouth, smearing it all over his face as he slurped it up. He saw the brothers, smiled, and crept in their direction, legs clacking on the floor.

  “It’s either trolls or a giant spider that wants to eat us,” Janner said in a trembling voice.

  “Trolls,” the boys said together.

  They heaved open the door and bolted out into the bright, windblown world at the top of the Killridge Mountains.

  72

  Rain and Fire

  Janner and Kalmar stepped out into a courtyard as wide as the Field of Finley. It was encircled by a stone wall at least twenty feet high, with snow heaped at the edges. The deep blue sky was cloudless and cold. Directly across the courtyard was an arched opening in the wall that framed countless snow-capped peaks marching off into the distance. The brothers were at the top of the world.

  And the top of the world was crowded with trolls—big trolls—dressed in furs, which made them look bigger and more fearsome, like a herd of bomnubbles.

  “Grrk,” one of them said.

  One by one, the trolls turned their attention to the boy and the wolf standing with their backs to the castle door. There was no way the brothers could cross the courtyard before the trolls seized them. Or ate them. Or smashed them flat. But Janner could see no other option. The wide world beyond the archway beckoned.

  Janner pulled the stone from his pocket, but here in the daylight its glow seemed a petty thing. Besides, the trolls weren’t melded; he doubted the stone’s power held any sway over them.

  The hulks grunted to each other and pointed suspiciously, moving closer to the boys.

  “Should we run for it?” Janner asked.

  Behind them, the spider scratched at the oaken door.

  “Yes.” Kalmar laughed nervously. “Yes, we should.”

  Janner crouched, trying to ignore the tremble in his tired legs.If I die, it will be a good death, he told himself.Uncle Artham would be proud, wouldn’t he?

  The spider scraped at the door again, then hammered it, and the old wood cracked.

 
“Ready?” Janner asked as the trolls edged nearer.

  Kalmar chuckled. “You know, I could really go for some troll poetry about now. Know any?”

  “In fact, I do,” Janner said with a grin. “We run on the count ofsquibbit. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Grrk. Glog-glog ack woggy!”

  Kalmar recited the second line.“Grrk. Glog-glogacksnock-jibbit.”

  “Ooog, wacklesnodspadgenoggy,” Janner continued, tensing to spring.

  “Nacketbrigglesweeeeeem! Grrk—”

  “—squibbit?”

  Before they ran, Janner realized another voice had finished the poem. One of the trolls stepped forward and repeated the line:“Nacketbrigglesweeeeeem! Grrk. Squibbit?”

  Janner was dumbstruck.

  “You talk troll?” the troll asked.

  “Um, grrk,” Kalmar said.

  “Grrk!” Janner blurted. “Glog-glogacksnock-jibbit!”

  The troll grunted something to his companions. The rest of them murmured and broke into childlike smiles.

  “How boys know troll talk?” a second troll asked.

  “A troll friend taught us,” said Janner, trying to ignore the pounding on the door behind him.

  “Troll friends?” the first troll said happily, clapping his hands.

  “Yes!” Janner hardly dared to hope that this was happening. “His name was Oood!”

  “Oood?” said the second troll. “Me remember Oood. Oood, son of Glab and Thracky!”

  “Glab my cousin!” said another troll in the back.

  All at once the tension in the courtyard floated away, and the trolls fell into happy chatter, congregating around the boys and looking at them with hideously cheery faces. Janner’s legs almost gave out. The door behind them shuddered with another blow and the trolls looked at the boys questioningly.

  “Listen!” Janner said. “Oood was our friend. He was going to help us smash Gnag.”