The Lost Realm Read online

  This is hopeless, he thought. We’ll never defeat them by ourselves.

  They needed help.

  Tarlan scanned the ground for his pack. Filos was making for Merello’s ship. The ship’s rail was lined with archers, each aiming a strange bow that looked like it was tilted onto its side. In just a breath or two, the young tigron would be in range.

  “Filos!” he yelled, hoping she would hear him over the battle. “Come back!”

  To his relief she swerved aside, just as a volley of short, red bolts flew from the weapons. They struck the beach an arm’s length from her paws, raising puffs of black sand.

  “To the woods!” he shouted, hoping the rest of his pack would hear.

  Filos immediately broke away from the melee and began racing up the beach. After one final swipe of his massive claws—which felled four Galadronians in a single blow—Brock lumbered after her.

  “Nasheen! Kitheen! See them to safety!”

  As the thorrods shadowed Filos and Brock into the tree line, Tarlan looked around for Greythorn.

  The wolf was circling Tyro, who was holding him off with his curved sword. Every time Greythorn snapped, Tyro swung his blade.

  “Down!” Tarlan cried.

  Theeta dropped like a rock, the air screeching through the stiff feathers at the ends of her wings. At the last moment, she pulled out of the dive and Tarlan swung his sword. Tyro looked up in surprise, taking a clumsy half step back. It was just enough to save him from decapitation. Instead of slicing through his neck, Tarlan’s blade connected with his shoulder.

  The thud of the impact sent shock waves all the way up Tarlan’s arm. He couldn’t tell if he’d struck flesh or armor. As Theeta wheeled around, Tyro’s sword struck the side of Greythorn’s head. The wolf flew sideways, blood pouring from the gash that had opened up below his left eye.

  Stabbing his sword back into its scabbard, Tarlan wrenched Theeta around in a tight circle. Leaning precariously out from the thorrod’s neck, he managed to slip his arm beneath Greythorn’s body and heave the injured wolf onto Theeta’s back. Screaming with the effort, Theeta lurched skyward, great beats of her wings compensating for the sudden extra weight. Tarlan held Greythorn against him, feeling the rapid drumming of the wolf’s heart; his own heart was beating at least as fast, and his breath was coming in rapid spurts. His hands were slick with Greythorn’s blood.

  “To the Isle of Stars,” Tarlan cried. “Faster than you’ve flown before!”

  As they sped over the battlefield, a row of Galadronians raised their sideways bows. A scant breath later, a volley of bolts whistled past Tarlan’s head. One struck Theeta’s right wing, but passed straight between the feathers without so much as drawing blood.

  Tyro’s voice rang out over the battle. “Think you’ve escaped, boy? We’ll come for you! Our assassins will hunt you down!”

  “Not before we’ve defeated you!” Tarlan yelled back.

  Theeta was flying faster than he’d ever known. Land gave way to sea, the Isle of Stars looming closer with every beat of the thorrod’s wings. Squirming beside Tarlan, Greythorn let out a mournful howl. He was dismayed to see that the wolf’s left eye had filmed over white. There was movement on the water below; two of the Galadronian ships had turned away from the village and were rowing in pursuit of Theeta.

  “Faster!” Tarlan yelled.

  “Fly fleet!” Theeta cawed. Incredibly, she sped up.

  I hope you’re ready with your magic, Melchior! If ever we needed a wizard’s powers, it’s now!

  CHAPTER 17

  The dungeons?” exclaimed Sylva. “But we were going to see if Mother’s recovered from her fever. Anyway, you can’t go to the dungeons, Elodie. They’re not safe!”

  “I’ve got to, because . . .” Elodie searched wildly for an excuse. “Because I need to talk to the man who attacked me! We have to know about the Galadronians and about why they want me dead.”

  “I think we can guess,” said Cedric. “They want to make sure you can’t take the throne. Anyway, Captain Gandrell will take care of all that.” He glanced across the courtyard to where the captain was disappearing through the main castle entrance. “Come on. We’ll see you safely to your room, and then—”

  “Safe? Do you think any of us are safe with all these Galadronians prowling around?”

  “There was only one of them,” said Sylva doubtfully.

  “If I’m to be queen, I have to know about everything that’s going on in my kingdom. I’m going to the dungeon. Are you coming with me, or am I going alone?”

  Tossing her head, she stalked off down the corridor.

  Samial fell into step beside her. “Will they come?” he said.

  “Of course they will.”

  And, of course, they did.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the dungeon. Here the naturally red stone of the castle walls was dank and covered with green moss. The ceiling was low and the only light came from torches burning in sconces on the walls.

  As they entered the guardroom, the soldier on duty rose from his chair and challenged them; when he saw who his visitors were, he stood to attention.

  “I didn’t know you’d returned,” he said. “Is your father with you? Does he know you’re here?”

  “Of course he does,” said Elodie with a withering glare.

  The guard let them pass.

  She hurried to the cell in which the would-be assassin was being held . . . and marched straight past it.

  “Where are you going?” called Sylva. “I thought you wanted to find out about Galadron.”

  Elodie stopped. All right. Now to tell them the truth.

  “Will you help me do what I must?” she asked.

  Sylva and Cedric exchanged glances. “Of course,” they said in unison.

  “Then help me now. Help me free Fessan.”

  “Fessan?” said Cedric, puzzled.

  “Do you mean that man who was brought here with you?” said Sylva. “The fellow from Trident?”

  “Yes. He’s my friend—my very loyal friend. He’s spent years fighting on behalf of me and my brothers. He’s risked his life for us. I can’t leave him here.”

  Sylva shook her head. “Loyalty is one thing, but . . .”

  “Loyalty is everything, Sylva. Fessan believes in the prophecy. He knows it’s real, and he’d do anything to see it come true. I have to save him.”

  Sylva nodded. “I understand. We understand. It’s just . . . well, it’s impossible.”

  “It’s not impossible. Just dangerous.”

  Sylva looked around sharply. “Where’s Cedric?”

  Before Elodie could respond, Cedric’s call floated down the corridor. “Elodie! Sylva! Come here, quickly!”

  Sylva ran toward the sound of his voice. Elodie felt a cold hand curl into her own and saw Samial smiling at her grimly in the gloom.

  “I’ll help, Elodie,” he said. “I’ll always help.”

  She gave his ghostly hand a squeeze. “I know.”

  Cedric was waiting for them outside a large cell. Inside, staring out with pale, frightened faces, were dozens of children. Their clothes were filthy, little more than rags. Many were crying; all looked half-starved.

  Sylva’s hands flew to her mouth. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Who are they?”

  “Tarlan told me about this,” said Elodie. Anger swelled inside her. “Vicerin has been kidnapping children from all the lands he’s conquered. Sylva, I’m sorry, but your father is . . .”

  “Is cruel,” said Cedric flatly. “We know it, don’t we, Sylva? We’ve always known it.”

  “We’ve got to get them out.” Sylva sounded as if she was in a trance.

  Elodie nodded, her thoughts whirling.

  Fessan won’t survive here much longer. But neither will these children . . .

  “Go see if Fessan is still in the same cell,” she said to Samial. “And if not, find him.”

  “I’ll find him,” Samial replied.

  �
�Then go!”

  As Samial scurried off, Sylva said, “Who were you talking to?”

  “Never mind. You’re right, Sylva. We’ve got to save the children. Sam—”

  She broke off. Was it wise to reveal the existence of her ghostly friend?

  She decided it was. “Samial! Wait!”

  Samial trotted back and stood expectantly before her.

  “Do you think you can steal the key to the children’s cell from the guard?”

  “Yes,” Samial replied at once.

  “Then do it now. And hurry!”

  He darted away. Sylva and Cedric had been watching this exchange with slack jaws. To them, Elodie knew, it would look as if she were talking to thin air.

  “Elodie,” said Cedric slowly. “We heard rumors about Trident. About an army that was more than an army. You can . . . you can talk to . . .”

  “Ghosts,” finished Elodie quickly. “But there’s no time for that now. We’re going to free the children, and we’re going to free Fessan. We’re going to do it all tonight, before Vicerin returns. Then I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Never mind that! Can you create a diversion?”

  “A diversion?” said Sylva. “I’ve got just the thing!”

  Moments later Elodie was sprinting down one of the narrow corridors that connected the kitchens to the main castle. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest, urging her on.

  No time! There’s no time!

  Rounding a corner, she collided with a maid carrying a steaming bowl on a tray. With a shriek, the maid dropped it and the bowl shattered, spilling what smelled like chicken broth over the stone floor.

  “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but I was taking that to Lady Vicerin,” said the maid. “She’s still poorly, you see.”

  “Sorry,” Elodie called as she ran on.

  A flight of stairs took her up to a suite of rooms on the first floor. These were the castle’s guest quarters. Beneath her feet the floor changed from hard stone to polished wood. The painted faces of Vicerin ancestors stared down at her from the framed pictures on the paneled walls.

  She stopped outside a door, considered knocking, then simply opened it. Inside sat the man she was looking for.

  “Captain Leom,” she said. “Will you help me?”

  Leom didn’t look well exactly, but he seemed a lot better than when Elodie had last seen him. He was clean-shaven, though gaunt, and his military uniform looked crisp and neat. But there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and a haunted look inside them.

  “Help you?” he replied, rising slowly from the soft chair in which he’d been sprawled. “If I can, Princess Elodie. If I can.”

  Elodie spotted an untouched bowl of broth on a nearby table. It looked identical to the bowl the maid had dropped. “Are you well?” she said. “Are you eating?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have not eaten anything for a whole day. I don’t think all this rich Ritherlee food agrees with me. And do you know what? I feel much better for it.”

  “I’m glad.” Elodie pulled out the thorrod feather from where she’d hidden it in the pocket of her dress. “Do you know what this is, Captain Leom?”

  Leom’s eyes widened. “A feather from a thorrod. A miraculous thing.”

  “Yes. And an important one. I found it here, in my own chamber. Do you know what that proves?”

  The glint in Leom’s eye told Elodie he was starting to guess. “Tell me,” he said.

  “My brother Tarlan flies with the thorrods.”

  “Go on.”

  “Vicerin lied to you. Tarlan was here, in Ritherlee—this feather proves it. Vicerin held him prisoner here in the castle. Tarlan escaped . . . but there are others still to be freed.”

  Leom’s brow furrowed. “I thought there was something wrong here, but . . .” He pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. “Tarlan was here, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “So Lord Vicerin is a traitor to the crown.”

  “Yes. Captain Leom, will you help me?”

  She held her breath as he rubbed his face. He lowered his hands and gave her a long, appraising look.

  “What would you have me do, Your Highness?”

  Outside, the gardens were on fire. The flower beds bloomed with flame; trees burned; mounds of hay and compost left by the gardeners blazed. Soldiers and servants stood in a ragged line, passing buckets of water in a human chain, trying in vain to douse the conflagration. There was smoke everywhere.

  Well done, Sylva! Elodie thought with grim satisfaction. Oh, well done, Cedric!

  “Is this the diversion you told me about?” said Leom as they raced past the confusion, then through the doorway that would lead them to the dungeon.

  “Yes,” Elodie replied. “It’s quite a show.”

  Sylva and Cedric were waiting for them by the children’s cell.

  “Elodie, thank goodness,” said Sylva. “I thought you were . . .”

  Her voice broke off as Samial emerged from the shadows holding up a large ring of keys.

  “Who’s there?” whispered Sylva. Elodie knew the keys must seem to be floating through the air.

  “Someone who knows magic, I suspect,” Leom remarked, regarding Elodie with a quizzical eyebrow.

  “It’s Samial,” Elodie said. “My friend.”

  She took the bunch of keys from him and picked her way through until she found one that matched the large black lock. The door swung open. At first the children didn’t move. Several retreated, cowering to the back of the cell. Then Captain Leom dropped to his knees.

  “It’s all right, little ones,” he said in a soft, deep voice. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Are y-you here to help us, m-mister?” stammered a small girl with dirty blond hair.

  “Yes. I’m going to take you far away from here, to a place where Lord Vicerin will never find you.”

  “I’ll give you gold if you’ll take me, too,” called the Galadronian assassin from his cell.

  “Shut up!” snapped Elodie, rubbing her bruised and painful neck.

  One by one the children crept out of the cell and clustered around Captain Leom. They gazed up at him adoringly, and Elodie knew her instinct to bring him here had been right.

  “Hurry,” she said. “Take them to safety, as you once took my brother.”

  “I will, Princess Elodie.”

  He began to make his way out of the dungeon, with the children in tow.

  Elodie turned to Sylva and Cedric. “Go with him. The guard actually saluted Captain Leom when we came in, but I think he’ll change his mind when he sees his prisoners on the loose.”

  “And if we can’t convince him?” said Sylva.

  “I have my sword,” said Leom drily.

  “What about you?” asked Sylva.

  “I’m going to find Fessan.”

  “We’ll come back for you, Elodie,” said Cedric. “We won’t leave you.”

  “No! Wait for me by the door to the garden. Be ready. When we come, we’ll be coming at a run.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Elodie grabbed a fresh torch from a sconce on the wall, seized Samial’s hand, and raced deeper into the dungeon.

  The corridors gave way to rough tunnels. Elodie sensed they were descending deep underground, into the ancient catacombs over which Castle Vicerin had been built. Samial paused beside an open doorway.

  “This is where they held him until today,” he said.

  Elodie peered inside and saw a tiny chamber with a low ceiling. Fixed to one wall was a set of manacles. There was a large puddle in the middle of the floor, and a drainage grille in the far corner.

  “The water cell,” Elodie breathed. She tried to imagine what it must have been like for Fessan, chained up to his neck in icy water. It was a torture so typically Vicerin in its brutality. “Where is he now?”

  “Not far. This way.”

  Hand in hand they ran farther
through the maze of tunnels. At last Samial stopped. Before them was a low door made of hard, black wood. He took the keys from Elodie, sorted through them until he found the one he wanted, and plunged it into the lock.

  Elodie held her breath as Samial opened the door, terrified of what she might see.

  The cell was small and square, with solid earth walls and a muddy floor. It smelled like a sewer. There were no windows. When Elodie thrust the blazing torch inside, the man huddled in the corner cringed and threw his arm up over his face.

  “Fessan!”

  Handing the torch to Samial, she rushed into the cell. In the same instant, Fessan clambered to his feet and held up his fists. His knuckles were scabbed, and his hands shook. Elodie had never seen anyone less equipped to put up a fight.

  “Fessan! It’s me, Elodie!”

  “I know who it is!” The words came out slurred. Fessan spat a gob of bloody saliva onto the damp floor. “Elodie the princess. Elodie the spoiled brat. Elodie the traitor!”

  Elodie realized she was shaking all over. Tears spilled down her cheeks: tears of relief, that he was still alive; tears of shame, for the deceit she’d had no choice but to play on him; tears of pity, for the pain and anguish he’d suffered.

  “I’m here,” she said. She reached out to him, but he drew sharply back.

  “Here? Yes, you’re here. Come to gloat, have you?”

  “No.”

  “How could you do it, Elodie? After all Trident did for you. After everything I did.”

  “I didn’t want to.” She forced her voice to remain steady. “It was the only way. The Vicerins would have wiped you out if I hadn’t given them what they wanted. I thought they’d leave you behind with the others, but . . . If I’d known where you’d end up . . .”

  “It’s a nice story, Elodie.”