The Lost Realm Page 27

  “Brutan will track us here,” Simeon warned. “He’ll follow us down.”

  Gulph nodded wearily. The journey through the tunnels would be dark and dangerous; he knew that because he’d made it twice before. With Brutan on their heels it would be more perilous still. Yet that wasn’t the worst of it.

  The worst of it was that his father was still standing.

  Even Mother’s sword wasn’t enough. He can’t be defeated! Now I will never take the throne. Neither will my sister, my brother. Brutan will be king of Toronia forever.

  CHAPTER 24

  Trees move,” said Theeta.

  Tarlan looked over the vast expanse of the Isurian forest canopy. It was another ocean, this one made of glossy leaves and fine green needles. The only movement he perceived was the natural sway of the treetops in the wind.

  But Theeta’s eyes were much sharper than his own.

  “What do you see, Theeta?”

  “Trees move,” the thorrod repeated unhelpfully.

  Moments later, all became clear. In the distance, in the middle of a patch of young woodland, a long ribbon of trees was not just swaying—it was thrashing to and fro, as if some huge creature were beating its way through.

  Not a creature. An army!

  “We’ve found them!”

  Tapping his heels against Theeta’s flanks, Tarlan urged his thorrod steed lower. Kitheen, who’d been flying beside them all the way from the beach, followed silently as they descended.

  “Filos! Greythorn! Brock! Are you there?”

  Tarlan knew they were close. With every day that passed, the bond with his pack grew stronger. His knowledge of them was like a sixth sense, although not as powerful as his sense of sight or his hearing.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Sure enough Theeta’s wings had barely skimmed the treetops before the three animals came into view. They raced through the thick undergrowth, bounding over deadfalls and plowing through stands of hawthorn and holly as if they weren’t there. When they reached a small glade, they stopped and looked expectantly up.

  Tarlan guided Theeta in to land beside them. Kitheen continued to circle overhead, keeping watch.

  “We’ve nearly caught up with the Galadronians,” said Tarlan. “You’ve done well, all of you.”

  “Men are slow in the forest,” growled Greythorn.

  “When can we fight them?” inquired Brock.

  Tarlan grinned. “You’ll get your chance. But we can’t afford to take them on yet. Our first job is to join up with Trident again.”

  “The army is moving east,” Filos observed. “Trident is east.”

  “I know. If we want to get to the Trident camp first, we’ll have to circle around the Galadronians. We’ve got the speed, so we can afford to make a detour.”

  “Cold way,” Theeta suggested.

  It took Tarlan a moment to work this out.

  “Yes, we’ll go south,” he agreed. “But not nearly as far as Yalasti, Theeta. Not even as far as the big river. Just far enough to make a loop around the army. Then we’ll cut back north and be at the clearing before them.”

  “Fessan gone.”

  “Well, yes, I think he probably will be gone.” Tarlan considered. “Fessan will have stayed long enough for the wounded to recover, but we know he wants to start recruiting again. I think Trident will have moved on by the time we get there, but they’ll have left a trail.” He grinned at the animals. “And I have the best team of trackers in Toronia.”

  “Then we fight?” asked Brock. He reared up on his hind legs, a mountain of tangled brown fur.

  Tarlan gave the bear’s massive foreleg a friendly slap and laughed. “There’s no stopping you, is there, Brock? But you have to be patient. The Galadronian army is very big, and our pack is very small.”

  “Not as small as it was.”

  “Not now that we’ve got you, Brock, no.”

  The bear craned his neck and gazed deep into the forest. “Not Brock. Them.”

  There was a crashing sound behind Tarlan. He whirled in time to see several large creatures breaking through the trees and into the clearing: bears, at least ten of them, with more massing behind.

  “Are you Tarlan?” demanded the bear in front, a squat black beast with a scar on his nose.

  “Uh . . . yes.” Tarlan found it difficult to speak with his jaw hanging open. He turned to Brock. “Where did they all come from?”

  “From everywhere. When we were running to the sea, I met a bear. I told her my story. She told other bears, and they told more. Captive bears heard the story too, and rose up against their masters. When you freed me, Tarlan, you freed them. You freed them all.”

  Tarlan saw that some of the bears did indeed still carry the remnants of chains around their necks, or manacles on their paws. He promised himself that as soon as they found Trident, he would have Fessan’s blacksmiths release them from these last shackles of slavery.

  This is my true gift, he thought giddily. It’s not just talking to animals. It’s setting them free.

  “You are welcome, all of you!” he cried, stepping toward the bears. “Will you really fight for me?”

  “We will fight!” the black bear snarled.

  “More come,” croaked Theeta in Tarlan’s ear. “You call.”

  Tarlan looked beyond the clearing, seeing only the darkness of the forest interior.

  “More bears?” he said.

  “More everything.”

  A thrill ran down Tarlan’s spine. He closed his eyes and summoned his will. Heat washed through him, both strange and familiar. He touched the heat and, through it, touched the forest. Shapes were moving through the trees. No, not shapes—minds!

  A wave of dizziness washed through him. He staggered; Theeta’s wing caught him, held him upright.

  “What’s happening, Theeta?”

  “Tarlan fly. Tarlan see.”

  Opening himself fully to the pulsing heat that was growing inside him, Tarlan clambered onto the thorrod’s back and allowed her to carry him aloft. The forest was alive with movement. More bears were entering the clearing. A pride of red-furred forest cats was slinking along one of the half-hidden trails. Wild boars arrived from the slopes to the north, carving their way through low-lying brambles with great sweeps of their tusks. From the south came a volley of howls: packs of wolves, running to join the growing throng.

  Joining the pack! Tarlan’s temples throbbed. My pack!

  “Join me!” he shouted. “Join me, all of you!”

  His voice carried over the trees, but he knew that the real cry came from within. He felt it then: a vast, collective pulse. The force of all these individual animal lives, hunters and prey united, gathered as one below him. Gathered for him.

  He spoke with something other than his voice.

  Run with me! Fight for me!

  With a sudden screeching, a flock of eagles burst from the treetops, each with a wingspan as broad as Tarlan was tall.

  Fly with me!

  By now the clearing was full. Tarlan could see Brock, Greythorn, and Filos moving among the newcomers, welcoming them.

  Join me!

  “There’s no stopping us, Theeta!” Tarlan cried. “Fly, and let them follow!”

  Theeta obeyed, turning south as they’d planned and beginning the loop that would take them ahead of the enemy. The eagles followed, a white-winged escort. On the ground below, what had begun as a random assemblage of mismatched creatures became a kind of organized stampede: bear and cat, fox and boar, horse and wolf, all running together, all following Tarlan’s call.

  Oh, Elodie, wait until you see what I’ve brought you!

  By the time they reached the clearing where the Trident camp had been, the sun was beginning to set. The Galadronians were nowhere to be seen. Still, Tarlan suspected the enemy would be here by nightfall.

  “Trident gone,” observed Theeta as she landed.

  “Yes,” Tarlan replied. “Well, we expected that, didn’t we?”

&nbs
p; All the same, it was with some disappointment that he jumped down and surveyed the deserted clearing. He told himself not to worry, that Trident’s absence was a good sign.

  “They’re off getting new recruits,” he said, wandering out across the scuffed turf. “Let’s see what clues we can find.”

  Filos and Greythorn emerged from the trees and into the low red light of the sunset. Beyond them Tarlan sensed the massive presence of the rest of his newly enlarged pack.

  Stay back, he instructed them, sending the command not from his mouth but from his heart. Talking to the animals this way felt natural, as if he’d been doing it all his life.

  “There was fighting,” said Greythorn, casting his one good eye about the clearing.

  Tarlan stumbled over an abandoned tent. To his dismay the fabric was ripped and stained with blood. Several swords lay half-trodden into the ground. The blade of one was broken clean in two.

  What happened here?

  Kitheen, who’d landed near the edge of the clearing, opened his black wings and cawed. Tarlan joined him and saw that the thorrod had found a line of freshly dug graves, marked with simple wooden stakes. Beside the graves lay the bodies of three dead men.

  Carefully Tarlan turned over the nearest corpse. It wore the familiar green of the Trident army.

  “They were attacked,” growled Filos.

  Tarlan nodded, appalled. “But by who?”

  Something moved in the undergrowth to his right. Before Tarlan could react, a blur of gold shot past his head, and Theeta’s talons thrust their way deep into the bushes. They emerged clutching a young boy dressed in the same green that adorned the corpse.

  “Please!” screamed the boy. “Don’t let it eat me!”

  “She won’t eat you. Theeta, put him down.”

  The thorrod deposited the boy gently before Tarlan. The youngster’s face was grimy, and his tunic was torn, but his eyes were wide and full of life. A short sword was stuck into his belt. Its blade was scratched and its edge was notched.

  “Please, Your Grace. I only hid ’cos I thought it was them. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Nobody’s going to hurt you.” It felt strange to be called “Your Grace.” Tarlan wasn’t sure he liked it. “Just tell me what happened.”

  “I thought you was them,” the boy repeated. “Then I saw you was you.”

  “Who do you mean? What happened here?”

  “It was them. The Vicerins. They ambushed us. We had no chance. I went up a tree and waited till it was over.”

  At the mention of the name Vicerin, Tarlan’s whole body had turned cold. “When did this happen?”

  “Not long after you left. You and the wizard. Where is he, Your Grace?”

  “Never mind that. Where’s Trident?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to say. There were too many of them. It’s all over. Trident’s finished!”

  Distraught, Tarlan stared at Theeta. For the first time ever, he saw tears brimming at the corner of the thorrod’s fathomless black eyes.

  I never knew thorrods could cry. Oh, Melchior. I wish you were here with me now.

  “Elodie,” he said. “What about the princess? Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “Oh, she’ll be all right.”

  Something in the boy’s tone made Tarlan’s skin prickle. “What do you mean?”

  “It was her that brought them here. I’m sorry, Your Grace, but your sister, it turns out she’s a traitor.”

  Anger flashed through Tarlan. “That’s not true! You’re lying!”

  “I wish I was. But I’m not. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Tarlan’s head felt ready to burst. “What did you see? Tell me!”

  “The princess, she said how she was glad the Vicerins had come. She went riding off with them all high-and-mighty—begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she did—and there was poor Fessan all chained up. He’d have died fighting for her, so he would. And what did she do? Betrayed him. Betrayed us all!”

  Tarlan wanted to shout at the boy to stop talking. There were too many words, and all of them were hurting him. With hunched and shaking shoulders, he turned his back and walked away.

  He’s telling the truth. It’s there in his eyes.

  Had Elodie really betrayed Trident? Tarlan couldn’t imagine his sister doing such a thing.

  But why would the boy lie?

  I’m sorry, Fessan. You didn’t want us to leave. If Melchior and I had stayed, would things have turned out differently?

  Tarlan imagined Melchior vanquishing the Vicerin attackers with his magic . . . then remembered that until their journey to the Isle of Stars, the wizard had been just an old man who needed a stick to help him walk.

  No. If we’d stayed, we’d be dead, or prisoners like Fessan.

  He stopped pacing and returned to the boy.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “Kassan, Your Grace. I . . . I’m sorry it all happened, really I am.”

  “So am I, Kassan. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.” He shoved his anxiety and confusion aside. Enough thinking; time to act. “What’s done is done, and we have more important things to be worried about.”

  “We do?”

  Tarlan eyed Kassan’s sword. “Do you know how to use that?”

  The boy puffed out his chest. “I surely do, Your Grace! I was the best student in the camp. Leastways, that’s what Lieutenant Tagger said.” His face fell. “He’s dead now. I buried him, along with the others. There’s still more to be done, though.”

  “Never mind that. I need every good swordsman I can find.”

  “Why? Is there going to be more fighting?”

  “Yes, Kassan. Now tell me, do you know if there are any towns nearby?”

  “Of course. There’s Deep Poynt. It’s the biggest town in all of Isur.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The boy nodded. “I lived there before I joined Trident.”

  Tarlan shook his head, unsurprised. There was something inevitable about this whole encounter . . . about all the events of the past few days, in fact. He could almost feel all the many parts of the world moving around him, gradually settling into place like the pieces of some gigantic puzzle.

  Crouching, he quickly told Kassan about the advancing Galadronian army.

  “Where’s Galladonika?” said the boy, frowning.

  “Never mind. All you need to know is that the enemy is coming this way, and they’ll attack anything lying in their path. From what you’ve told me, that means Deep Poynt.”

  Kassan’s frown deepened. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.

  “They’re going to attack my home?”

  “Yes! And you’re going to help me defend it. As long as we stand, Kassan, you and me, Trident stands too!”

  “You and me.” Kassan looked doubtful. “We can’t fight those Galladonikans on our own.”

  “We’re not on our own.”

  Stepping away from the boy, he patted Theeta on the neck and strode out into the center of the clearing. The sun had vanished behind the trees, leaving the forest dark and brooding. Directly above Tarlan’s head, the three prophecy stars shone in a purple velvet sky.

  Spreading his arms wide, Tarlan called a single command: “Come!”

  Even as his voice rang out across the clearing, he drew that word inside himself, where it grew hot and strong.

  Come!

  They came, the beasts of the forest and the birds of the air. The ground shook beneath hoof and paw, and the sky shrilled with the shriek of hawk and eagle. From one side came the bears, from another the wolves, from another amassed a crowd of boars and deer and low, slinking weasels. The ground to Tarlan’s left began to shimmer as it covered itself with a carpet of snakes.

  Through the center of the animal throng came the horses.

  “So, Kassan,” said Tarlan. “What do you think of our army?”

  Kassan was openmouthed. His face was white, except for two spots o
f color on his cheeks, shining in the twilight.

  “Will they eat us?” he quavered as a pair of giant grizzly bears loped past.

  “Not us!”

  Among the animals was a horse: a fine gray stallion with a thick black tail that Tarlan guessed must have escaped its owner.

  Come!

  He sent the command like an arrow. The horse reared, whinnied, then trotted up to him. It stamped the ground, snorting, and lowered its head, allowing Tarlan to stroke its nose.

  “Can you ride?” Tarlan asked. The boy nodded. “Bareback?”

  “My uncle taught me.”

  “Good. Every soldier needs a good horse. This one is called . . .” He spoke into the horse’s ear: “Tell me your name.”

  The horse stamped once and whinnied.

  Tarlan turned back to the boy. “Kassan, this is Windracer.”

  The boy was gaping. “You can talk to horses?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s . . . mine?”

  “No, Kassan. Never think it. You and Windracer are equals. Look after him, and he will look after you. Now, can you lead us to Deep Poynt?”

  The boy heaved himself onto the horse’s back. He ruffled his fingers through Windracer’s mane, then grinned at Tarlan.

  “Follow me!” he cried, jabbing his heels into Windracer’s flanks. They trotted north toward the edge of the clearing.

  Follow! Tarlan sent the thought out to the gathered animals even as he raced back to where Theeta was waiting. Follow, and soon we will fight!

  “Many come,” Theeta remarked as she took them both into the sky.

  “Yes, Theeta, just like you said.”

  They flew out over the treetops. Tarlan gazed down in awe, reassured to see Kassan riding confidently along a broken trail through the woods. Behind him ran Filos, Greythorn, and Brock, and behind them, widening like the head of an arrow behind its point, ran Tarlan’s pack.

  At last he let his thoughts return to Elodie.

  What she’d done was unbelievable. Unforgivable. He wanted to confront her, to tell her how stupid she’d been. To shout it in her face.

  Good riddance to her, he thought bitterly. I didn’t need a sister before. I don’t need one now.

  But his brother . . .

  “I’ll save Gulph myself,” he muttered. “And forget Elodie ever existed.”