The King in Reserve (2 page)

The Throne Hall in the palace at Challish was vast, and it seemed even more so because Wargrach and Queen Tayesha were the only two saur in it. Wargrach stood at ease in front of the throne while the Queen glared at him. He knew she enjoyed sitting in the rough stone chair. It reminded her – and everyone – of her special bond with the land.

Another tremor rolled through the palace. Wargrach shifted his tail to maintain his stance, doing it almost unconsciously. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, but he ignored it.

The Queen tapped her claws on the stone armrests of the throne. 'I should flay you,' she said. 'You deserve it.'

Wargrach bowed his head. 'Your Majesty, I am yours to command.'

'So you say. But I fear you march to the beat of your drum, not mine.' She stood and tugged her midnight blue gown around her, shivering. 'I cannot punish you, of course. I must reward you for your valiant conquest of Knobblond.'

It had been easier than Wargrach had anticipated. The pitiful Knobblond Army had moved east to guard the border from the Thraag Army, which had been travelling to Sleeto. Wargrach's force swung south-west before turning north and marching into the capital, Muhna. By the time the Knobblonders knew what was happening, he'd seized the palace.

He grunted. 'It was your conquest, Your Majesty. I was simply your humble servant. Your army is now installed in Muhna.' He bowed even deeper. 'My forces have retired to High Battilon. Thraag has swallowed Knobblond with ease.'

'And what do you want, Wargrach?'

'To serve, Your Majesty. Put me back in command of the army and Thraag will not suffer defeat again.'

She stared at him for a long time. Wargrach dropped his gaze, deliberately. 'I suppose I must. You are a hero again, Wargrach, after your taking of Knobblond. My soldiers love you. My people love you. My generals are the only ones who dislike you.'

He shifted his weight and growled. 'They won't be a problem.'

'Certainly not, especially after their stupidity at Sleeto. And King Gormond of Knobblond?'

'You rule Knobblond, Your Majesty, no other.'

'I see.'

Wargrach decided not to tell Tayesha that King Gormond had fled. Wargrach had patrols combing the countryside. It wouldn't be long before the King was found. Once he was, he would disappear forever.

Another tremor shook the palace. Queen Tayesha hissed. 'This will pass,' she muttered. 'It must pass.'

Wargrach had noted the tremors and eruptions he'd seen while travelling from Muhna to Challish. He'd had to detour around a great crevasse that had opened overnight and devoured an entire village. 'It's nothing, Your Majesty. The land welcomes your rule. It is merely settling into the new order, shivering as it heals under your wise guardianship.'

'I wonder.' She gazed out the nearest window, her tail twitching slowly. She drew herself up and clicked her claws. 'Go now. Build me an army that will sweep across Krangor and deliver the other five kingdoms to me. Go, Duke Wargrach of the Eastern Peaks.'

'Duke Wargrach?'

'Consider it your reward.'

He bowed stiffly. 'Your Majesty.'

Wargrach limped from the Throne Hall, his teeth bared in a smile as soon as he turned his back on the Queen. His fortunes were restored. His plans were well on track. The future was his.

Tayesha sat at the granite table. She felt secure in her underground room, despite the tremors. The surrounding stone was solid and comforting, and the darkness soothed her troubled mind.

She had re-read the ancient texts. She
was
doing the right thing. Krangor needed a single guardian to bond with the land. The tremors since the conquest of Knobblond only proved this.

But her concerns had been roused by another matter. Her readings had led her to understand that the A'ak would try to prevent her mission to become the single monarch of all Krangor.

Tayesha sat back. She brought her hands together in front of her and gently clicked her claws.

She had not considered the A'ak to be a danger to her plans . . . until she had found a few obscure texts that spoke – in frightened terms – of the perils of the A'ak. And one tiny, half-burned parchment warned that the A'ak would return from their banishment one day, but before they did, they would extend their hand from their plane of imprisonment to prepare the way. They believed they were the true rulers of Krangor; their ire would be raised by anyone who dared to think otherwise.

Tayesha firmly believed that a suspicious ruler was a long-lasting ruler. Though these few texts had chilled her, she didn't tell Wargrach of her findings about the A'ak. After all, none of the books Wargrach had collected for her spoke of the A'ak at all – a curious omission. She vowed to watch him even more closely. He was valuable, but not so valuable that she would risk everything on his loyalty.

The possible return of the A'ak was a weighty matter, but another was more urgent. She needed to do something to calm the land lest it shake itself apart in its turmoil. All it would take was a simple ritual to strengthen her bond.

She stood, moving easily despite the total darkness. On the table she had assembled all that was needed: a stone cup, a stone bell and a stone knife.

She took the cup and the knife. With the easy grace of a Clawed One, she drew the knife over the back of her forearm. The pain was bright, but she ignored it. When the blood began to drip, she placed the knife back on the table.

'My blood and the land,' she said in a firm voice. 'We are part of each other.'

The blood splashed on the rocky floor. With a groan, a crack opened; spiderweb-thin at first, it grew and snaked across the width of the chamber before heaving open, yawning wide. The darkness vanished. The chamber was filled with a glowering red light as molten rock welled up in the fissure.

Tayesha felt the raw heat on her scales, but she didn't hesitate. She kneeled and filled the stone cup.

Protected by her magic, the cup did not melt. Tayesha groped for the bell and rang it. While the echoes were still sharp in the chamber, and knowing the agony she was about to experience, she raised the cup. Without hesitation, she swallowed the entire draught of molten rock.

Tayesha's eyes flew open and she staggered. She dropped the cup. It bounced and rolled across the stone floor. Distorted shadows capered and danced on the walls.

She felt as if she were on fire, burning from the inside out. She tried to quell the pain by clutching at her throat. She fell to her knees, fire blazing through her body.

Her vision was clouded red as she struggled with the searing pain, but movement caught her eye. She lifted her head and stared, bewildered by what she was seeing. This was not part of the ritual!

A lumpy, swollen figure shambled out of the shadows, scraping heavy feet across the stone floor. Grotesque and hideous, it appeared to be made from a jumble of rocks. Tayesha stood, transfixed by shock, and watched as it seized the knife from the table. Even as it lumbered at her, slashing and hacking, she could not move. Only when the blade sliced the air right in front of her snout did a cry burst from her. She swayed to one side, then she rolled under its grasp. She came to her feet. Through the red haze of her agony, she recognised the stone monster from the ancient texts. 'Begone, creature of the A'ak,' she managed to croak. She rang the bell, which she was surprised to find still in her hand.

The stone monster jerked, then recoiled, shuffling away from her. It used the knife on the wall of the chamber, opening a crevice that had not been there earlier. It lurched through and the wall snapped back together.

Tayesha fell. The bell sounded once and broke in half. She groped for it, but her strength failed.

The fissure of molten rock slowly drew together. When it closed, darkness ruled the chamber.

The day after Hoolgar's disappearance, the three friends assembled in the Room of Dreams again. Icy rain hammered at the windows. Shivering, Adalon glanced at the storm and hoped that it would slow Queen Tayesha's troops. He shook his head.
Krangor will need more than bad weather to save it,
he thought.

This gloomy notion made him turn his attention back to the map of the seven kingdoms of Krangor. He once again inspected the baffling techniques the A'ak map-makers had used to represent the whole continent in dizzying detail. The map was covered with lines and symbols, most of which were still a puzzle.

Thoughtfully, Adalon scratched his brow with a claw and shifted in his chair. Then he stared and looked more closely. The map had changed since he last studied it! Those tiny blue stars, scattered across the seven kingdoms of Krangor – they hadn't been there before, he was sure of it. And were they linked by lines?

'Adalon,' Simangee snapped from across the table. 'Adalon! You're not listening to me!'

Adalon blinked and turned his attention back to his friends. Targesh looked at him sympathetically, but Simangee was definitely unhappy with his lack of attention. 'Sorry, Sim.'

'We
must
rescue Hoolgar,' she said. 'We must act, now.'

'What can we do?'

'We have to do something! Who knows what the A'ak are doing to him?'

'Don't forget that Hoolgar was important to Targesh and me, too,' Adalon said.

'Was?' Simangee bridled. Her tail thrashed. She breathed heavily. 'What do you mean
was?
Hoolgar is alive. I know it.'

Adalon held up both hands, palms outward, and tried to placate his friend. 'Sim, we haven't given up. We just don't know where to start.'

Targesh rumbled. 'We'll find him.'

Simangee threw her hands in the air. 'But
when?
We must find him now!'

Great hopes were curdling inside Adalon. It was too much for a young saur. Sixteen summers he'd seen, and now he was the leader of the valiant band opposing Queen Tayesha's plan to conquer all seven kingdoms of Krangor.

He drummed his claws on the table and sought for inspiration.

Adalon's roving gaze fell on the haggard figure perched on a ledge under one of the long windows on the south side of the room. 'What say you, Uncle Moralon? What should we do?'

It was a forlorn hope. As usual, the gaunt saur did not respond. It was as if Adalon had not spoken a word. Moralon merely moved a white piece on his game board without lifting his head.

Adalon's spirits fell a little further. His uncle had grown smaller, folding into himself, in the months since he'd been rescued from Wargrach's dungeons. Adalon had hoped that he would heal, but the saur who had once been a wit and a writer was now a shell. His whole attention was absorbed by his shifting of white pieces and black pieces in a game that never seemed to end.

Adalon rubbed the back of his neck and felt how taut his muscles were. 'Do you have any news, Targesh?'

'News?'

Adalon pointed at his friend's muddy clothes. 'You've been outside. I'll warrant you've been talking with the Winged Ones, or some of your outriders.'

Targesh cracked a small smile. 'The Winged Ones were scouting, before the storm. They say there's fighting in Shuff and on the border of Bondorborar. Soldiers everywhere. More fiery mountains appearing in the Skyhorn Ranges, too.'

Since Thraag had conquered Knobblond, the land of Krangor was groaning with unrest. Tremors had become common, fissures appeared without warning. The Winged Ones' scouts reported that crevasses had opened in the plains of Virriftinar, while a lake in south Bondorborar had mysteriously drained away, leaving a vast, muddy depression in the landscape. At times, Adalon felt the pain of the land in his own soul. It was as if one of his joints had become dislocated, grinding away without respite.

Adalon's gaze dropped to his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. He hesitated, but knew he had no choice. 'We have more important matters than saving Hoolgar. We must find King Gormond of Knobblond.'

Simangee's mouth fell open. 'No! It's Hoolgar we must find!'

'Sim,' Adalon said, 'if we find Gormond, we could save Krangor.'

'I know. But if we fail to help our friends, what are we?' Simangee turned away, hiding her face, but not her small, musical sobs.

Adalon was torn. Simangee and Targesh had rescued him from the prisons of Queen Tayesha. And it was the loyalty of his friends that helped him endure the hardship and peril of the war they were waging.

And now he was unwilling to show such loyalty to an old and valued tutor? Yet, if he declined the chance to find King Gormond, how would that sit with the oath he'd sworn to revenge the death of his father, slain by Queen Tayesha's crony, General Wargrach?

As he struggled with his dilemma, it was the Way of the Claw that came to him – as it so often did.
When faced with doubt on both sides, seek a middle way.

'A middle way,' he muttered. He looked up. 'Can we do both?'

Simangee let out a long, ragged breath. 'Do both?'

'Can we save Hoolgar
and
rescue the King?'

Targesh shrugged. 'We've done a hundred impossible things. Why not another one?'

Simangee gave a half-smile.

Adalon rose. 'We have strength and courage,' he said, and slapped Targesh on the shoulder. 'We have intelligence and imagination.' He held out his hand to Simangee. She took it. 'What we don't have is time.'

'We never have enough time,' Simangee said.

'We cannot abandon Hoolgar,' Adalon continued, 'and if we can find the King of Knobblond we can have a King in reserve.'

'We'll do both?' Simangee asked.

'We'll do both,' Adalon repeated, but his mind was already elsewhere, sifting through plans. How best could they juggle saving the old tutor with the important task of rescuing King Gormond? Perhaps Simangee could find some trace of him in the mirrors of the chamber of power . . .

The tall doors of the Room of Dreams opened and interrupted Adalon's thoughts. The Flightmother strutted in, flanked by two of her guards, warriors who carried themselves proudly. They wore leather trews and harnesses, and hefted spears made of light but sturdy thornwood. The Flightmother gestured at them, herding them outside. She closed the doors. 'They're good lads,' she said, 'but they get carried away with this guarding business.'

'Flightmother,' Adalon said, rising from his seat and bowing, 'I'm glad you're here. We have to find the King of Knobblond.'

The Flightmother huffed her dry, grating laugh. 'Of course we do. And you won't find him without us.' She shrugged. 'Such a task is not fighting, but it may satisfy some of the more hot-blooded ones among us.'

Adalon sat again and glanced at his friends. Targesh seemed happy that they now had a course of action. Simangee looked doubtful, but Adalon hoped she understood. 'We should summon Varriah,' he said, 'and let her know what we've decided. As steward, she'll need to organise things while we're gone.'

At that moment, the floor trembled beneath their feet. Startled, Adalon hissed and gripped the table with his claws, scoring the dark wood. Then the entire Lost Castle shook sharply, like a great beast shivering with dread.

The doors to the Room of Dreams burst open. The Flightmother's two guards rushed in. The Flightmother threw open the nearest window. 'This way,' she croaked. She hopped to the balcony and stood to one side as her warriors pushed through. They launched themselves into the air and climbed skywards.

The Flightmother perched on the balcony rail and shrugged at the three friends. 'Open sky over our heads seems like a good idea right now, with walls shaking like this.'

She thrust out her wings and pushed off.

Adalon went to the balcony and looked out. Simangee and Targesh joined him. In the courtyard below, saur were running from the castle, calling out in fright as an anguished growling came from the depths of the Lost Castle – the sound of the land in torment.

An immense clashing sound like two huge boulders being hurled together came from the depths beneath their feet. Adalon swayed as the entire castle lurched first one way, then the other. Giddy, Adalon clung to the balcony, feeling sick, as if he were in a boat on a stormy sea.

The walls of the castle shivered again and then settled with a painful groan. The courtyard was now full of wary saur staring up at the castle and its outbuildings, wondering if the danger was over.

Adalon, Targesh and Simangee looked at one another. Adalon was relieved that his friends looked as disconcerted as he was. 'That wasn't like the shaking we've had of late,' Simangee finally said. 'Too short, too sharp.'

Targesh stepped back from the balcony, grunting with surprise, as the Flightmother and her warriors swooped past, close enough to touch. They circled the Morning Tower, then swung back over the courtyard. The Flightmother landed first, perching on the balcony parapet with easy balance. When she was secure, the two warriors landed, one on either side.

'Nothing to see in the Hidden Valley,' the Flightmother reported. 'No trees down, nothing.' She cocked her head and studied the castle. 'It just happened here, it seems.'

Adalon's tail thrashed. 'Magic?' he asked Simangee.

'Oh yes,' she whispered. The skin around her eyes was pale. 'Awful magic.'

With a certainty that came from dread, Adalon knew that the Foundation Room was at the heart of what they had felt.

'The A'ak?' Targesh said.

Adalon sighed as Targesh put a name to what all were thinking.

'It smells like their work,' Simangee said.

Targesh shook his neck shield. 'We should go armed, then.'

Adalon felt the heart-flutter that was the seed of fear. Despite this, he found he was eager – keen for the chance to put on the magical armour and wield the blade that went with it.

Too keen. He steeled himself and resisted the temptation. He was not ready to take A'ak weapons to face A'ak magic. 'To the armoury. Ordinary blades this time.'

Simangee and Targesh both nodded, their faces thoughtful.

'I'll go and talk to my people,' the Flightmother said. 'You should have your searchers by the end of the day. They'll help you find your elusive king.'

'Good.' Adalon looked at his uncle. He hadn't moved from his place under the window. The wounded saur's attention was still on the game board in his lap. He moved a white piece, then a black one, as if nothing had happened around him at all.

I'd give anything to help you, Uncle,
Adalon thought.