The Lost Realm Page 6

  “How far beneath the city are we, do you think?” he asked as the two soldiers joined the little circle. He handed Ossilius a plate, then tucked into his own food. The fruit was chewy and the juice was both weak and bitter. But his stomach received both with gratitude.

  “We are as far down as Idilliam is high,” Ossilius replied.

  “That’s a long way,” said Marcus. “Here, Slater, pass us some of that meat.”

  “Get it yourself,” Slater replied, hugging the crate to his chest. “If you dare.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Marcus stood, his hand hovering over his sword. Ossilius took his wrist, but the younger soldier shook him off.

  Gulph and Ossilius exchanged a glance.

  “It means the meat is mine,” said Slater, getting to his feet.

  Marcus took a step toward him. “We’re all hungry, Slater. There’s no telling how long we’ll be down here. We need to work together.”

  “Get back, soldier boy, or I’ll work you over!”

  “I’m sick of arguing with you. Now give it up.”

  “Enough of this bickering,” ordered Ossilius, now on his feet too. “Share the food, Slater. Now.”

  But Slater took a step backward, glowering. Marcus reached for the crate and Slater shoved him away, then stumbled into one of the kegs.

  Marcus drew his sword; the keen blade flashed in the lamplight.

  “Wait!” shouted Gulph. He leaped in front of Marcus, his hands raised. The last thing they needed was for a fight to break out.

  “Out of my way!” said Marcus. He seemed to check himself. “Er, sire.”

  “Put down your sword!” Gulph put all his heart into making his voice sound stern. What came out sounded more like a squeak. Nevertheless, Marcus obeyed.

  “We have to stick together,” Gulph went on. “Whatever happens, we have to—”

  The ground began to shake. The plates rattled, spinning like gigantic coins and spilling food across the suddenly vibrating floor. Tiny stones broke loose from the walls and ceiling, dropping like hail all around them.

  “What’s happening?” wailed Jessamyn.

  “Cave-in!” snapped Ossilius. “Everyone—against that wall!”

  He herded the group toward the only wall that wasn’t in motion. Gulph tottered as he ran, finding it hard to keep his balance on the floor’s undulating surface.

  Far down the tunnel through which they’d entered, something roared like a caged dragon. Just visible in the pinched distance, a cloud of dust billowed toward the chamber, carried on an icy wind.

  “Out! Out! Out!” shouted Ossilius, urging them into one of the smaller passages leading from the food store. Marcus led the way, with Gulph and Hetty hustling Jessamyn between them. “Slater! Come on!”

  To Gulph’s amazement, Slater was crawling across the shaking floor toward the approaching dust cloud, chasing the crate of meat he’d dropped.

  “Leave it!” yelled Gulph. “There’s no time!”

  Now the falling stones had become rocks. Not hail but an avalanche. Gulph clamped his hands to his ears as the dragon’s roar multiplied a hundred times over, echoing through the disintegrating chamber. Dust exploded against his face, blinding him and choking his mouth with powder.

  Flailing wildly, he blundered into the wall, then staggered back into somebody’s arms. He clawed the dust from his eyes and saw Hetty staring back at him, mouthing words he couldn’t hear. Jessamyn was clinging to her legs, her mouth drawn down in terror.

  A shadowy figure rose up in the middle of the dust cloud. It was Slater, incredibly still carrying his crate of meat. He held the prize above his head in triumph and began to stumble toward where Gulph and the others were cowering in shock.

  He was halfway across the chamber when the ceiling collapsed completely.

  More dust. More rocks. Gulph cringed. The noise was beyond his power to comprehend, let alone hear. The entire world seemed to have tipped on its side. His teeth rattled in his skull. His head felt ready to burst.

  Gradually the earthquake subsided. Silence fell; it was somehow worse than the uproar. Pebbles rattled down from the gigantic hole that had opened up where the ceiling had once been. The dust slowly settled.

  The chamber was a ruin. The floor was canted steeply to one side and covered with fallen boulders. Slater’s arm protruded from beneath one enormous rock.

  Crushed! he thought in horror. Even he didn’t deserve to die like that.

  With an effort, he tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight. He tried to speak, but a fit of choking closed his throat. He coughed out a spray of white powder, then tried again. “Is everybody all right?”

  Voices came to him through the lingering dust. Hetty and Jessamyn, Ossilius and Marcus. So they were all still alive.

  Everyone except Slater.

  One at a time they stepped out into the rubble. From far down the passage came a distant rumble, then all was quiet again.

  “I think . . .” Ossilius began.

  The floor lurched. A crack opened up in the wall against which they’d been sheltering. It raced down and across the floor, right between Gulph’s feet.

  The crack widened, becoming a gaping hole, then a chasm. For an instant, Gulph seemed to be hanging impossibly in the air. His companions were suspended beside him, each of them reaching frantically for something to hold on to.

  But there was nothing.

  Wind rushed past Gulph’s face as he cartwheeled down into the blackness.

  CHAPTER 5

  What are you doing?” said Samial uncertainly.

  “What I should have done sooner,” said Elodie, lifting the knife.

  She adjusted the shield she’d propped in the corner of the tent, tilting it slightly so that her face was reflected in the polished inner surface.

  Taking her hair in her other hand, she began methodically to cut it off.

  Samial watched in silence as Elodie’s long, red-gold locks fell to the ground.

  “If you had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be doing this,” said Elodie, “I’d have been horrified. But not now. Part of my hair was sliced off in the battle. I’m just evening it up.”

  “You are doing a lot more than that.”

  When she’d finished, Elodie put down the knife and appraised her reflection. Her hair was little more than a scruffy cap on her head. Urchin hair, she thought. “It’s like there was another me all along, hidden underneath the first me. A secret me. And now I’ve set her free.”

  “You are still you,” Samial replied.

  But Elodie wondered.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’s past noon. We’re late already.”

  “Why do you like me to attend council? I am a ghost. Nobody else knows I am there.”

  “That’s exactly why you’re useful, Samial. You can hear the things I miss.”

  Samial grinned. “It is good to be useful again. Sir Jaken always used to say that a good servant was a better treasure than gold.”

  “You’re not my servant, Samial. You’re my friend.”

  Leaving the tent, they crossed the clearing to the flat patch of ground where Fessan’s big tent had been pitched. He welcomed her into the circle of people gathered in the open space, then made his way around the others gathered there, clasping hands with some, clapping the shoulders of others. Elodie noted the respect in people’s eyes as their commander moved among them.

  He’s more than a leader to them, she thought. He keeps them going.

  She took her seat, Samial standing beside her. Although she was glad of his presence, she found herself suddenly missing Tarlan. Her brother had been gone only a day, yet his absence seemed to hang over her. She stroked the green jewel at her throat. Even though she knew Tarlan had lost his to Lord Vicerin, the touch of the cold stone seemed to bring him a little closer.

  “We are Trident,” said Fessan, taking up his place at the center of the circle, “and we have survived!”

  The audience, which up to t
hat moment had been a sea of distracted murmurs, fell silent.

  “We are safe here, for now at least—our enemies do not know where we are. Yet we are vulnerable even so, for two reasons. We have wounded, very many of them. And our numbers are badly depleted. The problem of the wounded will be solved by time, as injuries heal and spirits mend. For once, time is a luxury we can afford.

  “As for our numbers, on this we must take action at once. New recruits will not come to us; we must go to them. There is a town nearby—Deep Poynt . . .”

  “We passed through the place last year,” put in Ghast, one of Fessan’s lieutenants. “The people there have no love for our cause.”

  “Nor are they against us. They are simply afraid to show allegiance to anyone. If we give them a reason to join us—show them a figurehead—I believe they will rally.”

  All eyes turned to Elodie. Their combined gaze struck her like a blast of wind, leaving her momentarily breathless.

  “If it’s support you want,” interrupted a voice from the edge of the clearing, “you’re looking at your first recruit.”

  A man in a brown cloak emerged from the trees. He tossed his thick gray hair out of his eyes and began swaggering toward them.

  “Stown!” Elodie cried. She leaped up, drawing her sword.

  Fessan was already holding his sword too, as were Ghast and the other lieutenants. When Stown was halfway across the clearing, Fessan called:

  “Far enough, Stown! You have no business here.”

  “Now, that’s where we disagree.”

  “You made it clear that you would only be content if you led Trident yourself. That’s why I sent you away. Your exile is permanent. There is no way back for you.”

  “Exile.” Stown rolled the word as if tasting it. “It’s such a royal word. Something kings and queens command. What do you think, Elodie?”

  Elodie felt her cheeks flushing. Seeing this man brought back her troubled early days with Trident: being jeered at on the road to Idilliam, the endless arguing, her friend Palenie’s murder by an assassin who mistook her for Elodie . . .

  And lurking in the background, always sneering, had been Stown.

  “I think you should have stayed in exile,” she said coldly.

  “Seize him!” Fessan barked. Ghast and two others raced toward Stown, who immediately raised his hands in surrender.

  “No need to do that,” said Stown. “I’m a different man now, with very different friends. Soldier friends. All the soldiers you need, in fact. Want to meet them?”

  He brought one hand down sharply. Behind him, men burst from the trees. Elodie recoiled in horror. There were hundreds of them, their faces masked by gleaming steel helms, their swords shining in the midday sun. Their armor shone too, flashing bright beneath their flowing cloaks. Their blue cloaks.

  “Vicerins!” Elodie hissed.

  Stown threw off his own cloak. Underneath, he wore blue too.

  Samial grabbed her arm. “Elodie, you must hide!”

  But Elodie shrugged him off. Her grip tightened on her sword. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The circle of people broke apart. All around her, Trident was in motion as green-clad soldiers grabbed swords and bows from the racks where they’d stored them. Tired as they were, Fessan’s men were still fearsome warriors. Yet Elodie knew that the Vicerin forces had the advantage of surprise.

  In the confusion, Stown had broken free from the Trident men and drawn his own weapon. He parried with a Trident soldier, sending him to the ground, then bellowed, “You stole something from Lord Vicerin! Now he wants it back!”

  Suddenly Elodie knew why they’d come.

  Me! He means me!

  “Get behind!” roared Fessan, dashing in front of Elodie as a pair of blue-cloaked Vicerins sprinted toward her. He stabbed his sword at the first, struck at the second.

  “I can fight!” she snarled, drawing her own weapon. “Let me fight!”

  “Take her to safety!” Fessan cried.

  Before Elodie could protest, Ghast was hustling her inside a protective ring of Trident troops.

  The clearing filled with the tumultuous sounds of battle: sword on shield, blade on flesh, grunts and shouts and the strangled cries of the dying. The Trident army fought as bravely as they had on the bridge, but Elodie could see that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Even as they cut down the Vicerin attackers, more of the enemy flooded out of the trees.

  “I can fight!” Elodie cried again, but Ghast seized her arm and bore her away from the battle. Two members of the escort stayed behind to fight off an onrushing band of Vicerins, and as the swords of the men clashed, Elodie glimpsed a pair of rocks rising as if by magic from the ground. They floated briefly in the air, then smashed into the skulls of the enemy soldiers, who fell senseless.

  Samial!

  Before she could see more, Ghast was pulling her through the camp and past a hospital tent, where a row of wounded Trident men were struggling to lift themselves off their stretchers. A group of Vicerin soldiers was bearing down on them. Two nurses stood in their way, hands raised. When the attackers reached them, they cut the nurses down, then worked their way along the line of the injured, stabbing each man where he lay. Blood spread rapidly from one stretcher to the next, turning the white canvas to red. “Butchers!” she screamed. She pushed against Ghast’s arm and felt it give way.

  “Queen Elodie! No!” cried Ghast as she fought her way to freedom.

  “I’m not a queen yet!” she shouted over her shoulder. “If I were, I’d be protecting my people!”

  The metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils. All around, Trident soldiers lay dead or dying.

  They’ll all be killed, she thought. Unless I give the Vicerins what they want . . .

  She raced to a nearby wagon and clambered up to the driving board. Standing tall, she took a deep breath and yelled, “I AM HERE!”

  Around her the chaotic fighting continued unabated. But as she scanned the clearing, she saw two faces turn up toward her: Fessan and Stown.

  “Elodie!” Fessan roared. “No!”

  He ran toward her. Almost immediately a sea of blue cloaks swallowed him up. Elodie strained forward, her heart in her mouth. An instant later Fessan broke free, blood spraying from the tip of his sword. Behind him three Vicerin soldiers dropped to the ground.

  “Stop him, you idiots!” yelled Stown. Yet more blue cloaks appeared, making a wall in front of Fessan, and this time he was swallowed entirely.

  Stown strode toward the wagon, gathering even more Vicerin troops in his wake. Elodie watched in terror as they surrounded her.

  “Stop fighting!” she yelled. “I’m here!”

  Her cry was heeded. Across the battlefield the sounds of clashing steel died slowly away. The forces of Trident and Vicerin alike lowered their weapons and gazed at her.

  Elodie had opened her mouth to speak again when the wall of blue cloaks parted and Fessan was thrust toward the wagon. His face was bloodied and his hands had been bound behind his back. He was shoved down the line of Vicerins, all of whom were jeering. When he reached the end, two of the enemy seized him, while a third held a knife to his throat.

  Meanwhile, Stown had reached the wagon. He grinned up at Elodie, revealing a jagged row of decaying brown teeth.

  “So, you’ve decided to surrender after all?” he said.

  “Elodie!” shouted Fessan. “Don’t do it!”

  Beads of blood trailed from the knife and ran down his neck.

  Stop struggling, she willed him. Stop struggling, or they’ll kill you!

  But she knew Fessan would never stop. There was only one way to save him, to make him give up the fight for her.

  I’m so sorry, she thought. Please forgive me.

  Then she squared her shoulders and summoned all her old haughtiness.

  “I will do what suits me,” she told Fessan. “I am glad someone has finally come to save me from you and the rest of these cutthroats!”

  Fessa
n stopped struggling and blinked in surprise.

  “Elodie!” he cried. “What are you doing?”

  “What I had always planned to do.” Elodie’s heart broke a little as she heard the coldness in her own voice, still more when she saw Fessan flinch before her words.

  “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe you!” She felt sick to her stomach. But for her plan to work, Fessan had to be convinced. An idea came to her.

  “Why do you think I buried that standard? To leave Trident undefended.”

  When he heard this, Fessan’s face finally crumpled. His chin sank to his chest.

  “You called them ‘cutthroats,’ ” said Stown slowly.

  “Of course.” Elodie turned to face him. “Do you think I like being here? Ever since they kidnapped me, I’ve been dreaming of rescue.”

  “Really? I always thought . . .”

  “Oh, I’ve played along. What choice did I have? I thought they’d kill me otherwise. But I knew my father would send someone eventually. It’s just a shame it had to be you.”

  Elodie held her breath. Insulting Stown might anger him beyond reason—or it might just convince him she was telling the truth.

  “It’s quite a turnabout,” said Stown suspiciously. “But that doesn’t matter now. We have you at last.”

  “Yes, at last! I can’t bear to stay with Trident a moment longer. I presume you’ve been ordered to take me back to my father at Ritherlee?”

  “Just as soon as we’ve finished off your Trident friends.”

  “They’re not my friends.” Elodie thought quickly, trying not to let her alarm show in her face. “Besides, they’re finished already. They’re not worth your time.”

  “We’ll fight you to the last man!” shouted Fessan, struggling in vain to free himself. “Elodie—you can’t do this!”

  “Stay where you are, young lady,” said Stown. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt while we finish our business here.” He turned to his men and shouted, “Round up every last one of these Trident scum!”