The King in Reserve (5 page)

Adalon, Simangee and Targesh followed the riverbank, their steeds' brass hoofs loud on the hard earth. The woods lining the river were thick – straight-trunked water beech, for the most part, but the spreading giants of the blackwood thrust their rounded domes through the canopy as well. The trees made it difficult to see Kikkalak and her company overhead, and Adalon craned his neck from side to side to catch glimpses of them.

Darkness grew thicker as they plunged deeper into the woods, and the track grew fainter. Adalon slowed and peered ahead through the shadows. The soft sounds of the wind in the reeds by the river came to him, and the drowsy murmuring of a bird settling for the night, but he was on edge, alert. Anything could be waiting ahead. His hand went to the A'ak blade by his side, but its urgent whispering made him more uneasy, not less. He resisted the longing to draw it.

Suddenly, his steed stopped, unbidden, and Adalon nearly fell.

Targesh and Simangee reined up behind him. 'What is it?' Simangee asked.

Adalon pointed. Ahead, in the gloom, was a rope stretched across the track. It was tied to two tree trunks at convenient hock height.

Cautiously, Adalon urged the great brass beast forward and the rope broke as if it were string. His senses singing, he edged the steed around a ragged depression in the ground ahead, covered with leaves, convinced it was a pit. He eased his sword from its scabbard and held it by his side while his tail twitched. The green smell of growth and moisture was heavy in the air. He turned his head from side to side, listening to the sounds of the night.

A fireball erupted right in front of them, making Targesh roar with surprise. Adalon flung up an arm, hissing, as the column of flame leaped toward the treetops. He jerked back on the reins, but even as he did he realised the flames were cool, not scorching. He smiled grimly.

'Adalon? Are you all right?' Simangee said.

'Not a scorch mark,' he muttered. He rubbed his eyes and tried to shake off the dazzle left by the fireball. 'It was meant to scare rather than hurt, I'd say.'

'It might just have been sloppy spellcraft,' Simangee said.

His throat dry, all his senses alert, Adalon stood in his stirrups. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a potion bottle tumbling toward him. He leaned to one side to avoid it, and it broke against the tree an armspan to his left. The trunk was immediately enveloped in a sticky mass of tendrils.

'Oh, that's hardly fair,' a voice came from out of the darkness. 'I had it all worked out. The fireball was supposed to make your riding beast rear and throw you. Then the Strangler potion was going to wrap you up and I'd have a prisoner.'

'Your Majesty?'

'Yes? I mean, no, dash it. I'm not the King.' Adalon heard some hasty muttering. 'I'm the Spectre, an outlaw, bloodthirsty and cruel, and I want all your possessions.'

Adalon tried to find the source of the voice. In the shadows, a large boulder stood between two trees. A dark shape loomed on top of it. 'You shouldn't be up there,' he said mildly. 'You're outlined against the night. I can see you quite easily, Your Majesty.'

'What? Oh dear.'

The shape wobbled, rose, then disappeared. Much scraping and a few muffled curses followed. Eventually, the squat figure of a young Plated One emerged from the shadows. He held a lantern. 'Here, good fellow,' he said, panting, 'it's best if you surrender. My justice is fair, but my rage is terrible.' A grin split his broad face. He turned and called over his shoulder. 'I like that! Sachi, did you get it down? "My justice is fair but my rage is terrible."'

Another Plated One emerged from behind the boulder. She held a journal and was scribbling furiously in it with a writing stick. 'Yes, Your Majesty. I mean, Spectre.'

Adalon sheathed his sword. 'Your Majesty. I am Adalon of the Eastern Peaks. These are my friends. The troops of Queen Tayesha are after you. We've come to take you to safety.'

'Safety? But it's been so exciting! When Wargrach rode into Muhna we barely escaped and we've been on the run ever since. My loyal band and I have managed to evade the vicious Thraag invaders by living off the land and our wits. We've become legends through our fiendish traps and our will-o'-the-wisp adventures!'

'So you
are
King Gormond?'

The Plated One's face fell. 'You're clever, the way you managed to worm that out of me. I suppose I'll have to kill you now.' He turned. 'To my side, my brave ones.'

With rather less enthusiasm than Adalon would have expected from brave ones, two more saur edged out from behind the boulder – another Plated One and a plump Crested One.

Adalon dismounted and approached. 'Where are your guards, Your Majesty? Where are your warriors?'

King Gormond bristled. 'Do not doubt the valour of my band. Small in numbers, but great in spirit are we.' He brightened and turned.

The journal writer nodded. 'Noted, Your Majesty. "Small in numbers but great in courage are we.'"

'Spirit.'

'Sorry?'

'Spirit, not courage. "Great in spirit are we." Do try to keep up, Sachi.'

Beneath his helmet, Adalon could not help but smile. The young king had perhaps listened to a few too many stories, but his keenness was encouraging. 'Your Majesty, great events are in motion. I am one of the enemies of Queen Tayesha and General Wargrach. My small band defeated their plans to invade Callibeen. We have a refuge which is safe and our numbers are growing. Won't you join us?'

King Gormond shook his head. 'I have a kingdom to regain. I cannot allow Thraag to swallow my country like this. I must gather my strength and fight back.'

Simangee leaned forward in her saddle. 'More is at stake than the fate of Knobblond alone, Your Majesty. The fate of all Krangor is in the balance. Queen Tayesha plans to conquer all seven kingdoms, bringing them under her sole rule.'

King Gormond goggled, his eyes catching the light of the lantern. 'What madness is this?'

'Madness indeed,' Adalon said. 'She believes that she can achieve immortality as the sole ruler of the land.'

King Gormond had trouble speaking for a moment, so great was his shock. 'It would break the great compact and upset the eternal balance. The land would rebel.'

'It has begun already. Haven't you noticed the tremors?'

'Ah. I had wondered what was amiss.'

'But that's not all,' Simangee put in. 'The A'ak are taking this opportunity to come back.'

King Gormond hissed. His tail beat against the boulder. 'The A'ak? It is not possible. They disappeared eons ago.'

'Exiled, they were, and they are rabid to come back.' Adalon seized the King by his shoulders. 'Join us. Fight this two-pronged menace. Add your strength to ours.'

King Gormond rubbed his forehead with a weary hand. 'Our strength?' He gestured at his tiny retinue. 'A chef, a tailor and a scribe. That is all I managed to save from the collapse of our country. I would be of no use to you.'

'What about your magic? As rightful King of Knobblond, you must have made the compact with the land. Each monarch can wield great powers.'

'Ah, powers, yes.' Gormond scuffed his foot in the dust. 'We were getting around to that.'

'You haven't undergone the Ritual of Bonding, have you?' Simangee said.

'Mother said I wasn't ready, so soon after Father passed on. I had to study the Way, and I kept getting distracted . . . Then she passed on, and things got so busy . . .'

Adalon felt a cold stone in his stomach. He'd been hoping to use the young king's power in their struggle. It would have been useful to have someone on their side with magic like Queen Tayesha's. Nevertheless, if Gormond couldn't be a weapon, he could thwart Tayesha's plans by simply staying alive. 'We need you. Your people need you. Join us and your strength will grow. Knobblond will be yours again.'

'Join a rebel band? True hearts resisting the tide of darkness? Great deeds?' He looked up, shyly. 'I could truly be a part of this?'

'You can.'

King Gormond grasped Adalon's hand and shook it. 'The Spectre will ride again!'

Gormond regaled Adalon and his friends with his many recent adventures while his tailor fetched their riding beasts. The King's steed was a highly strung black stallion. Despite Adalon's misgivings, Gormond proved to be a fine rider and was quick to control his headstrong mount.

His three helpers had more dour steeds, thick of limb and strong of chest. They were clumsily mounting by lantern-light when Kikkalak and her patrol dropped through the trees and landed in front of them.

'What strange creatures are these, Adalon?' Gormond cried as he reined in his rearing mount. 'Are they monsters sent by the A'ak to plague us?'

Adalon saw Kikkalak start to bridle. 'Do not say that, Your Majesty. They are our allies. Without them we would never have found you.'

Kikkalak stamped the butt of her spear on the ground and glared at Gormond. 'Winged Ones were slaves of the A'ak until we broke free. Never accuse us of being things of the hated race.'

Gormond held up a hand. 'My apologies, O Winged One. Your appearance so strange startled me, but history will tell of the time when King Gormond met creatures from legend.' He tilted his head. 'Won't it, Sachi?'

'It will, sire,' his scribe answered without looking up from her journal.

Adalon was impressed by Sachi's patience. The youngling seemed to be enjoying writing about Gormond's adventures as much as Gormond enjoyed having them.

Kikkalak subsided, and eyed Adalon. 'Now you've found him, we'll turn our eyes to scouting for Wargrach's troops.'

Together, the Winged Ones ran off before mounting into a long glide between the tree trunks, moving from shadow to shadow. Gormond stared after them, his face alive. 'Such wonders!'

Adalon smiled at the young king's enthusiasm for wonders. It was refreshing.

He mounted. Gormond fell in beside him, while the others trailed behind. 'We will soon have Thraag on its knees,' Gormond enthused as they set off. 'We will strike hard and then fade away like shadows. Our cunning and our wiles will throw fear among the troops and confusion among their generals. It will be the adventure of a lifetime!'

Adalon couldn't help smiling. 'You enjoy the old stories, do you?'

'They're so exciting. Much more exciting than studying how the saur live and how they should live and stuff like that. We have volumes and volumes in the library in Muhna. My tutors read them to me until I learned to read for myself.
The Adventure of the Seven Brave Brothers, The Siege of Yorgnak, The Long March.
And the songs, too! Bards and troubadours knew they were welcome in Knobblond, especially if they could perform the songs of days of old. "The Ballad of Yor and Kor", "The Lay of the Lost Patrol", "The Lonely Warrior". I learned them all.'

Simangee rolled her eyes but smiled.

'Targesh,' Adalon said, 'should we continue riding tonight or wait until morning?'

'Morning. Rest, make a fresh start,' Targesh said. 'But we'll take too long at this pace.'

Adalon clicked his claws together. Of course. Gormond and his retinue had ordinary riding beasts. It would take them weeks to cross Thraag and get to the Hidden Valley. The magical brass steeds could carry an extra saur apiece, but they would still be one mount short.

Wearily, he scratched the back of his neck. Worries, doubts, concerns. When would he be free of them?

Targesh studied Adalon for a moment, then he pointed. 'Over there, near the big blackwood on the riverbank. We can camp there.'

Adalon waved a tired hand. 'If you think so.' Perhaps food was what he needed, and then a good sleep.

But he lay awake thinking long after the others had settled into slumber, when only the sentries were stirring. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

In the morning, crisp and clear, Kikkalak had an answer. 'We'll net them.'

The camp was breaking up, the Winged Ones climbing down from the huge blackwood tree, grumbling and stretching. Gormond's servants stoked a small fire and the smell of cooking turned heads. Tendrils of mist drifted from the river.

Adalon managed a smile, even though his eyes felt hot and sandy from lack of sleep. He'd been carried in the Winged Ones' nets, back when they first encountered them on the Fiery Isles. It wasn't comfortable, but it was a swift – if heart-pounding – form of travel.

'Very well,' he said. 'Gormond can ride with me, if he'd prefer.'

The young king looked as if the choice were torturing him. A flight through the air with the Winged Ones or a cross-country gallop on a magical brass steed?

Before Gormond could choose, a wild yell split the dawn. Adalon whirled to see a dozen riders thundering along the riverbank toward them. Kikkalak screeched and took to the air with her scouts. Gormond cried with delight. 'The enemy! They think they have us!' He drew a sword.

Adalon blocked him with an outstretched arm. 'Back. Take cover.'

His mouth was dry, with both fear and excitement. He hadn't had a chance to don his armour, but the A'ak blade stirring in its scabbard made him giddily confident that he could cope with these ragtag soldiers.

The King's retainers dropped their cooking implements at the sight of the attackers. 'Up the tree,' Adalon snapped. 'Hurry.'

Gormond shook his sword. 'You heard him – quickly!'

'You too, Your Majesty,' Adalon said. He couldn't have the young king engage in combat. He was too valuable.

Gormond glowered. 'Battle calls. I will not run.'

Adalon thought quickly. 'I need you high up in the tree, to warn us of others.' He caught himself. 'No. It would be too dangerous. You would be a target.'

'Dangerous?' Gormond swallowed, but then straightened. 'What is danger? A challenge that the brave must face, that's all.' He trotted to the blackwood, then turned and waved. 'I will protect you!'

That's one fewer worry,
Adalon thought. He could now see that the riders wore the livery of Queen Tayesha's household cavalry, even if it was travel-worn and bespattered with mud. They carried shields bearing their proud blue cross. 'Simangee!' he called.

'I have them.'

Two arrows sped from Simangee's bow, one after the other, like flashes of lightning on a summer's night. Two riders somersaulted backwards, arrows sprouting from their shields.

The other riders didn't pause in their charge. Brandishing swords and stabbing spears, they tore the morning air with their battle cries. Adalon put his hand on the hilt of his sword and it fairly leaped into his hand. He drew it, feeling the fine steel ring on the mouth of the scabbard. He hissed, biting down on the battle joy that the A'ak blade brought. Now was not the time to fall under its unholy influence.

Targesh lumbered to his side. He held his giant battleaxe at the ready. He, too, had not yet put on his armour. He glanced at Adalon and grinned. 'I'll take the first five. You think you can handle the rest?'

'Watch me.'

Adalon swung the A'ak blade. It hissed through the air and he marvelled at its lightness. It felt alive in his hand. He resisted its whisperings that battle was shiny and glorious. After Sleeto, he knew too well that battle was sordid and dangerous, mostly filled with terror and panic, and much too much blood.

When the blood hummed in his veins and his tail twitched with excitement, this time it wasn't the A'ak magic at work. It was because it felt good to be doing something instead of brooding. In a moment of insight – as the cavalry charged toward him – he understood that it was actions that were going to win the day, not needless worrying.

Adalon gripped the sword two-handed and raised it over his shoulder. He was ready to strike the first rider and twist away, prepared for the next. He could see the movements in his mind – one, two, three, like a complicated dance.

His hands were steady. His eyes were calm. He was ready.

At that moment, Kikkalak and her company swooped from the sky like a dozen thunderbolts. War challenges shrieked from their throats.

The enemy's riding beasts, well trained though they were, were terrified by these apparitions from the heavens. Some base instinct warned them that death came from the skies, and all they wanted to do was flee. Just yards from where Adalon, Targesh and Simangee stood, the riding beasts refused to go on. They screamed, bucked, fought their riders and even bit each other. Some sheered off and wheeled away, carrying their cursing riders to the south.

In a matter of seconds, the riders and their steeds were scattered, no longer a threat. Those riders who had been dismounted took to their heels as if pursued by demons.

Adalon let his sword drop. He sheathed it and realised his hands were sore from gripping so tightly. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

He glanced at Targesh, and there was no confusion on the Horned One's face. 'Good,' Targesh said. 'Didn't want to miss breakfast.'

Simangee laughed and Adalon relaxed. 'I've been saving some of my finest tea,' she said. 'Let's share it in celebration of our famous victory.'

Kikkalak glided over and landed in front of the three friends. 'We'll chase them for a few leagues and make sure they don't come back this way,' she said, but she shook her head in disgust. 'No good staying here, though. I saw numbers coming this way, on steed and on foot, both sides of the river.'

Gormond trotted over, his eyes bright. 'They fled. Well done, O Winged One! You truly are a trusted ally!'

Kikkalak eyed him narrowly. 'Be that as it may, we can't tarry here.'

Targesh grunted and glanced at Simangee. 'No breakfast?'

Simangee patted him on the shoulder and smiled. 'Another time.'