Deltora Quest #8: Return to Deltora (8 page)

A
nother stuffy, jolting hour. Steven’s voice, singing softly, telling what he could see. Terrifying, tense minutes as the caravan slowed to join a line of carts passing through the city gates. The shouts of Guards. Then the sudden, achingly familiar sounds of Del. Wheels, bells, people shouting, jostling one another, bumping the sides of the caravan as it rumbled slowly over cluttered, cobbled streets.

And at last … stillness. The smell of rotting vegetables. Footsteps moving slowly to the back of the van.

The click of a latch. The doors opening a crack. Steven’s face, tense, peering in, the sky a dimming orange glow behind him. Steven climbing into the van, pulling the doors closed behind him and holding them shut.

“All seems quiet,” he whispered. “The streets are empty. There are no Guards about.”

“Then where are they all?” Jasmine hissed. She put her hands up to Filli, who was whimpering, nuzzling into her collar.

“Del is a big place,” Barda growled. “Perhaps they are guarding the walls. Perhaps they are around the palace …”

“Or perhaps they are waiting outside the walls, in the grove of trees — for us!” said Steven.

Lief shuddered. That would mean that there was indeed a spy in their ranks. It would mean that their friends were at this moment walking into a trap. He began to speak, but Barda held up his hand.

“If that is so,” he said harshly, “we must only be glad that the Belt is safe here. But our friends will not be unprotected. Steven will go now to the meeting place, if he can escape the city.”

“I will escape, one way or another,” Steven said grimly. “And I will attend the meeting. To explain — or to settle a score.” He clasped Barda’s hand, then Lief’s, then Jasmine’s. “Good fortune,” he said husk-ily. “May I see you again, and soon.”

Silently, the four companions climbed from the van. Rats gnawing on piles of vegetable scraps shrilled and scattered around their feet. Steven patted the old horse, which was nibbling at a wilted green leaf. “Wait,” he murmured. The horse nodded, snuffling softly.

Threading their way through a crowd of battered carts, they stole to the end of the small yard. But before they could enter the market square, there was a sudden commotion. A door was flung open with a crash. Rough voices and heavy boots burst, echoing, into the night. The light of many torches lit the darkness.

Hastily, the companions drew back into the shadows of the yard. The sound grew louder. There were crashes, grunts, the chink of stone. What was happening? Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Lief peered cautiously around the corner.

Torches were blazing everywhere. Ten Grey Guards were working in the middle of the square. They were heaving huge blocks of stone into place to make a stepped pyramid with a flat top. Through the center of the pyramid rose a tall pole, towering high and held in place by the blocks that surrounded it.

“Where’s the freak?” one Guard bawled. “The Ichabod?”

“It’s in the palace, feeding,” growled another. “It’ll be down here presently, for more. It prefers its meat cooked, they say.”

There was a gale of harsh laughter. Lief’s skin began to crawl.

“Get up to the top, Bak 6!” barked another Guard. “There’ll be trouble if we aren’t ready when they bring the others.” He strode over to the shadows and came back hauling what looked like a bundle of rags.

“They got them, then, Bak 1?” called the first Guard, climbing to the top of the pyramid. He had a length of rope and an oil jar in his hand.

“Easy. Knew exactly where they’d be, and when, didn’t they?” Bak 1 was heaving the bundle up the steps towards the pole. “They got the old woman first, so she couldn’t try any of her hocus-pocus. After that it wasn’t too bad. The big, ugly one took a bit of time. And the gnome gave some trouble, they say. Killed three Quills and a Pern on her own. But they fixed her in the end.”

Lief’s heart seemed to stop. He heard the sharply drawn breaths of his companions behind him, but did not turn. Rigid with horror he watched as Bak 1 pulled the bundle upright against the pole and Bak 6 began tying it into place.

It was Dain. Dain, silky hair flopping forward, the side of his pale face flickering in and out of view in the light of the torches. As Lief watched, he slowly raised his head. His eyes opened and widened in terror.

There was a heavy, panting sound behind Lief, and a rough movement. “No!” Steven’s voice rasped. “Nevets! Not while the Guards are close to Dain. They have daggers, blisters … They will kill him at once, if you strike now. Wait, I beg you!”

There was a moment of struggle. Then the panting eased. The movement stopped.

“Awake at last, your majesty?” Bak 1 was sneering. “That’s good.” He beckoned, and his fellows began toiling up towards him, their arms full of dead branches. As they dumped the wood around Dain’s feet, piling it high, Bak 6 sprinkled it with oil.

“This’ll keep him nice and warm,” he sniggered. Then he looked up, squinting into the torchlight. “The others are coming with the prisoners,” he said. “Party can start anytime. Someone had better get Fallow. Bak 3 — you go.”

“He won’t come,” whined Bak 3. “Ever since he heard that story about the three being sighted in the west, he’s stopped worrying. He’s locked in that room with his green light. You can see it under the door. And you know he —”

“He’ll come for this,” growled Bak 1. “There’ll be trouble if he misses it. Go on!”

As Bak 3 grumbled away, there were shuffling, clinking sounds from the side of the square nearest the city gates. The next moment, a group of stumbling figures came into view. Some were being dragged by Guards, other were walking alone, their legs weighed down with heavy chains.

Lief searched the faces. There was Gla-Thon, her hair sleek, wet with blood, her left arm hanging uselessly by her side. Manus, shivering with fear, came next. Behind him, Fardeep and Nanion supported Zeean, who hung limply between them. And, dragged on his belly
behind the last of the Guards, his body thumping over the cobbles, wrists bleeding freely as the straining chains bit deeply into his flesh was … Glock.

Only one person was missing.

“So now we know,” muttered Barda.

Steven’s great body had begun to tremble all over. Lief glanced at him fearfully.

The huge man’s eyes were fixed on Dain. They were changing from yellow to brown, brown to yellow. His mouth was twitching, his flesh quivering, as he fought Nevets for control. “When I give the word, Lief must run to the boy,” he growled thickly. “You others — guard Lief as best you can. We will do the rest. But keep away from us. Keep away!”

Lief tore his eyes from the terrible, writhing face, looked around again. Only Bak 1 and Bak 6 stood beside Dain, now. But both still had their daggers drawn.

Lief’s fingers felt numb as he reached for Dain’s dagger. If he managed to reach Dain alive, he would use the dagger to cut the ropes. That would be fitting. That would be …

But the dagger had gone. Lief looked down, blinking stupidly. The dagger must have fallen from his belt, unnoticed. Probably when he was climbing into the caravan on the road to Del.

A lump rose in his throat. Somehow this small loss seemed a symbol of his great failure. He had thought of himself as his king’s protector. What folly!

He glanced at Jasmine, rigid beside him. Her eyes were narrow and intent. Her lips were firm. Behind her, Barda towered. He had drawn his sword. His face still showed signs of his illness, but his brow was furrowed with determination.

Lief shook himself. This was no time for weakness. He turned back to face the pyramid and drew his own sword. The sword his father had made for him. That, too, could cut ropes. Could free his king. That, too, was fitting.

Bak 1 grinned cruelly as the chained group came to a stop in front of the platform. “You’ve got a rare treat in store,” he snarled. “You’re to witness a great event, before you die.”

He looked down, annoyed, as Bak 3 hurried into his view. “Where’s Fallow?” he snarled.

Bak 3 shook his head. “He wouldn’t answer the door!” he panted. “I told you!”

“Then we’ll begin without him!” Bak 1 snapped. “And he’ll face the consequences when the master comes!” He jerked his head at Bak 6, who sprang down to the ground, snatched up a torch, and held it up to him.

The prisoners struggled vainly in their chains, their faces masks of horror. Dain leaned back against the pole and closed his eyes.

Lief held himself ready. Ready …

“Now, traitors,” snarled Bak 1, raising the torch. “Watch your puny king scream for mercy as he burns.”
He touched the torch to the wood, then jumped to safety as flames began to leap.

“NOW!” The roar echoed around the square. Not just one voice, but two. And both of them like thunder.

L
ief ran like the wind, dodging every hand that clutched at him, every blister that flew at him. He did not look behind him. He barely heard the screams, the snarling fury, the shouted orders that ended in shrieks of terror. Jasmine and Barda were on either side of him, but they could not keep pace. In seconds he had reached the platform. Alone he leaped up to the top, sliced through the ropes that bound Dain, pulled the limp body from the flames.

Eyes streaming in the smoke, he swung the boy further down the platform and let him go. Dain staggered, then stood, swaying, on his own feet. Lief grappled with the clasp of the Belt of Deltora. At last it slid apart. He pulled the Belt from his waist …

There was a mighty crash, a bellowing roar. Lief spun around. Jasmine and Barda stood teetering on the edge of a gaping hole that had opened in the square.
Flaming torches were scattered around them. Nevets, Steven, and a host of Guards had disappeared. The Guards’ screams echoed hideously up into the night for a single moment, then were choked off. The ground shook as Nevets raged against the walls of his prison.

Rats poured from the little yard where the caravan stood. As they ran they shimmered and paled, rising into wavering white flames with coals for eyes and gaping, toothless mouths. And in the core of every one was the Shadow Lord’s mark.

Lief whirled back to Dain, the Belt dangling from his hand, his mind blank with horror and confusion. A trap had been set for Nevets. They had been betrayed! Their plans had been known. But how? No one knew of Barda and Steven’s scheme. No one …

And then he saw the dagger on Dain’s belt. Unsheathed, the dagger gleamed in the fire’s fierce light. Its tip shone bright silver. Lief looked away from it. Up into Dain’s dark, dark eyes. And in those eyes, unveiled at last, he saw the answer to all his questions.

“You,” he said quietly.

Dain smiled. “I made an error,” he said. “I should have put the dagger aside when I returned to this form. How fortunate you did not notice it before you ran to me. That would have spoiled my plan.”

His hand swung, striking Lief’s arm a tremendous blow, knocking the Belt into the fire. With a cry, Lief grabbed for it. But Dain had his wrist in a grip of icy
steel. Dain’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly Lief’s sword was white-hot. It fell from his blistered hand and clattered, useless, down the steps of the platform.

“Still, I am glad you know, human,” Dain hissed. “I want you to know what a fool you have been. And it does not matter now. For now the Belt of Adin cannot harm me. Soon it will be nothing but melted scrap.”

He pointed at the remaining Guards. They were open-mouthed, devastated by what had happened to their companions. “Take the prisoners to the palace!” he shouted shrilly. “They have served their purpose.”

“No! Let them go!” Lief cried. “You have the Belt! What more do you want?”

Dain’s huge, dead eyes glittered. “When I call him, my master will come,” he sneered. “He will see you, and your companions, and all the other traitors I have found and brought together here. Then I will be his favorite, ruling this land for him as the soft, Lumin-soaked failure in the palace never could. And you — you will die in torment amid the ruins and ashes of all you love.”

His mouth twisted in scorn at the expressions on Lief’s face. “You fool! You never dreamed that Ichabod was acting under my orders. That he had not carried me away, but was running alone in the dark, babbling of Del! And when you found the dagger I had become, you did not suspect it for a moment — even though you knew that Grade 3 Ols could take any shape they wished. You put it in your own belt, as I knew you would,
snivelling for my loss, little knowing that you were carrying me with you from that time on. I was watching your every move. Listening to your every plan. Waiting to see how best I could destroy the devil Steven and that accursed Belt. And when I knew enough — I left you, and came here to prepare … this.”

He waved his hand at the seething square. But Lief held his gaze, and did not look away. Lief had seen a movement behind Dain. Someone crawling up the steps of the platform towards him. A hawklike face. A pale, ragged scar. Tangled black hair. Slowly, slowly …

“I trusted you, Dain,” said Lief. “I thought you were the heir.”

Dain sneered. “As you were supposed to do from the first, human. It was what I was created for. I acted my part perfectly, did I not? I made no mistakes.”

“You did,” Lief said. “You should not have entered Tora. That was your vanity — and it was nearly your death, was it not?”

For the first time, Dain’s eyes flickered, and dread brushed his face. But he did not answer.

Keep him talking. Keep him looking at me.

“And you failed to kill Barda with the poison you fed him, little by little,” Lief went on doggedly. “Of course, I should have known why he was weakening. I had forgotten. When the amethyst dims, that is a sign of poisoned food. But you had forgotten something, too. The emerald is an antidote to poison. It cured him.”

Dain’s lip curled. “When he is facing my master, he will wish it had not,” he spat.

Nearer …

“You feared Barda,” Lief said. “He knew too much about the king, and the palace. You realized he was a danger to your scheme when he saw so easily through the false note left with the skeletons. Another of your precious master’s plans that fell in ruins!”

By now Dain was breathing heavily. His twisted face was hardly recognizable as that of the delicate, modest boy Lief had known so long.

“My master had many plans, human,” he rasped. “And I was the most deeply hidden one. How often I wished I could inform on you, or kill you while you slept! But that was forbidden. My master had ordered me to peace and silence. I was his final weapon, to be used only if every other plan failed,”

“You contacted him once,” said Lief. “You told him our names.”

Soon …

Dain clawed at his chest in remembered pain. “I was — corrected, for that,” he said sullenly. “So then I made my own plans. And now my time has come.”

Without warning, he threw his head back.

“Master!” he screamed. “It is time!”

A clap of thunder shook the earth. Great red clouds began to roll across the sky from the north, blotting out the stars. Dain faced Lief, eyes gleaming.

“The armies of the Shadow Lord have risen!” he shrieked. “Those throughout the land who have dared defy him will be destroyed. And
you
have brought his wrath down on all their heads. You and your companions have done it all, Lief of Del!”

Doom!

With a cry, Doom leaped upon Dain, knocking him down, his sword plunging for the heart. But Dain twisted like a snake, his body dissolving, rising again in a column of sickly white. Icy mist coiled around him. He whirled around, his fingers reaching for Doom’s throat. Long, thin fingers, bringing with them the chill of death.

Lief staggered back, shuddering in a cold that was beyond imagining. The fire wavered, and went out.

Doom was on his knees. The Ol that had been Dain was laughing, laughing, pressing forward, intent on destruction. Shouts and groans rang from the square as Jasmine and Barda, torches blazing, held back a hundred crawling Ols, and the prisoners were dragged away. The sky was a mass of scarlet cloud.

Sobbing, Lief crawled to the fire. He scrambled among the dying embers, his fingers burning and freezing by turns. He found the Belt, staggered to his feet. The Belt was covered in white ash. But it was whole. The ash dropped from its gleaming length. The gems flashed under the red sky.

Now!

With the last of his strength, Lief threw the Belt around the Ol’s waist. With both hands he pulled it tight.

And the Ol screamed, throwing up its arms so that Doom fell heavily down the stone steps. Smoke rose from the place where the Belt gripped, and beneath the smoke the shuddering white flesh began to melt. The Ol twisted, trying to break free. But already it was dying. One face alone loomed from its melting white. The face of Dain, in all his moods: timid, beseeching, tearful, laughing, teasing, dignified, brave …

Lief bent, choking, as his stomach heaved. But he held tightly to the Belt, squeezing his eyes shut. And when at last he opened his eyes, there was only an ugly puddle of white dripping down the stone steps.

He clasped the Belt around his waist and threw himself down to the bottom of the pyramid, to where Doom lay. Doom was muttering, shuddering with cold. His lips were blue. Great red marks wound around his neck. There was a swelling bruise on his brow.

“Lief!”

Lief looked up wildly. Jasmine and Barda were racing towards him. The Ols in the square were not coming after them. They were wavering, aimlessly clustering together, as though they were confused. It was as though the source of their power had been struck a blow by the destruction of the great one among them.

But already some of them were starting to recover.
And the red clouds were tumbling, boiling, as they raced towards the city.

Frantically hauling Doom to his feet, Lief tried to think. Where could they go? Where could they hide?

Then the answer came to him. Where he had always gone when he was in trouble.

Home.