The King in Reserve (11 page)

Hoolgar was waiting at the spiky upthrust of the Jarquin Ranges. The other saur were nowhere to be seen. 'It worked?' Adalon said, pushing the two Horned Ones forward.

'There is a star inside the mountains, right where the Lost Castle would be. If you step on it, you disappear.' Hoolgar shrugged. 'I can only assume it takes us home.'

The two Horned Ones were scrambling over the mountains. Adalon lent a shoulder and heaved one over, then the other. 'Now you, Hoolgar.'

'No need for assistance, I assure you,' the old scholar said. With surprising nimbleness, he clambered up and over the polished stone.

Adalon spared a glance around the room. Was that an A'ak shadow coming from the arch to his right?

He didn't wait to find out. He leaped, gripped Graaldon with one hand, then plunged into the model of the Hidden Valley.

One moment Adalon was scrambling to evade the A'ak, the next he was in the milling crowd of relieved and grateful saur in the Foundation Room of the Lost Castle. Adalon was exhilarated, but he knew they had a task ahead of them. He thumped his tail against the wall until he had their attention. 'We have a castle to retake,' he declared. 'Is anyone here afraid to confront their copy?'

A chorus of angry growls reassured Adalon. Hoolgar rubbed his hands together in a way that looked particularly bloodthirsty for the old tutor, and he said, 'Even I look forward to teaching these horrid creatures a lesson or two.'

'To the armoury, then,' Adalon said.

The band of restored saur crept from the bedrock room and up the narrow flight of stairs. Adalon paused for a moment, thinking, while his companions huddled, doing their best to keep quiet. Then Adalon made up his mind and led the way through the back corridors to one of the vast laundries of the castle. Once there, Adalon stood, blinking in the moonlight that came through the slits in the shutters. 'It's night,' he said. He had no idea he'd been away for so long.

Hoolgar grunted. 'So it would appear. Good. It may give us some chance of not running into anyone.'

To get to the armoury from the laundry, they had to cross a courtyard, then go round the granary. Adalon winced for most of the saur were not trained for quiet movement. The night was cool, with a moon that was nearing full. The castle was painted silver against the dark sky. The slender towers – so unlike the solid walls and keeps of High Battilon or the Queen's palace in Challish – were serene and otherworldly, a reminder that they belonged to the A'ak.

Adalon shivered and withdrew into the shadows thrown by the keep.

The door to the armoury was unlocked. In their time in the Lost Castle, he'd tried to insist on guarding and locking the armoury, but the Hidden Valley was their sanctuary, so safe that both Simangee and Targesh had persuaded him that there was no need. He'd grumbled at this, but now he was blessing the decision.

Inside, the darkness was almost complete. Adalon stood for a moment, tail twitching, then decided that nothing could be done without light. He fumbled for, and found, a lantern and tinderbox on a bench near the door. With its light, he ushered his eager troop inside.

While the saur gleefully helped themselves from the racks of weapons and armour, Adalon slipped to the rear of the workshop. He stood in front of the iron cabinet, bouncing on his toes and barely containing his excitement.

A noise behind him made Adalon whirl. Hoolgar stood there, polishing his glasses on his filthy robe. 'Do you mind if I see the fabled cabinet?'

Adalon shrugged. 'Be my guest.'

He found the chain around his neck and took the iron key from under his tunic. It slid easily into the lock – no sign of age there – and Adalon was able to open the doors wide.

Light spilled out and the racks of magical armour stretched into the distance. Hoolgar sounded a note of satisfaction. Adalon hardly noticed. All his attention was on the nearest armour, his sky-blue equipment.

For a moment, he stood, entranced. The armour shone with a subtle sheen, while the sword rested in its sheath, leaning against the helmet, and called to him. He nodded, slowly, and a smile crept to his face. The armour was complete, perfect, and he was privileged even to gaze on it.

'Remarkable,' Hoolgar said from over his shoulder. 'It looks as if it goes on forever.'

Adalon felt an instant's irritation. 'Perhaps it does.'

He took his armour –
his armour –
from the rack. With Hoolgar's help, he was soon outfitted. At the last moment, he left the shield and helmet aside and settled for the supple neck guard. He wanted there to be no doubt who he was.

The other saur were having trouble being quiet. Arrayed with swords, maces, flails, with breastplates and helmets, they were eager to move, glad for action after escaping the A'ak.

'Ready?' he asked.

Bolggo slapped a mace into his hand. 'More than ready,' he growled. 'Let's teach these A'ak creatures a thing or two.'

'The stables are nearby.' Adalon stretched his neck. 'You, Odarn, stablekeeper.'

A muscular Toothed One pushed through the eager throng. He wore a leather breastplate and carried a battered short sword. 'Aye?'

'Stay by my side, Odarn. We'll go to the stables first and we'll try to take your lookalike. We may be able to gather some information from him before we enter the castle proper.'

The Toothed One grinned, dreadfully. 'Him and me might have a good chat, I reckon.'

Adalon slapped him on the back. 'Now,' he said to the group, 'follow us.'

As one, the angry saur surged through the door, pushing Adalon and Odarn ahead, as a wave pushes a warship. Despite their efforts at stealth, Adalon had to wince at the clattering they made as they edged around the courtyard, but he was heartened at their resolve. Kitchen saur and domestics they may have been, but they were stout and fierce when roused.

Adalon's hand dropped to his side. His sword almost leaped into his hand and he shook his head, ignoring it.

A door in the stables opened and a sleepy-eyed Billed One wandered out, scratching the base of his tail and yawning. Adalon almost found it comical, the way the youngling's bill dropped open and his eyes opened wide when he saw the troop of armed saur coming toward him. With a bound, Adalon seized the youngling's bill and snapped it closed, reducing his startled yelp to a muffled squawk. He held the youngling's bill with one hand. He squatted and looked into his eyes. 'Do you know me?'

The youngling gave a frightened nod.

'Good. The Lost Castle has been infiltrated by servants of the A'ak, lookalikes of the good saur who are with me. We need to find them.'

If possible, the young Billed One's eyes opened even wider. Adalon warily let go of his bill and gestured to Odarn, the stablekeeper, to join them. 'This is Odarn. Do you know where the false Odarn is?'

The young Billed One let out a squeak and grinned. 'I knew it! Odarn hasn't been himself lately, if you'll excuse me for saying so, Odarn. I mean, real Odarn, sir.'

'Never mind,' Adalon said. 'Where is he?'

At that moment, the door to the stable flew open. Standing there, outlined against lantern light coming from within the stable, was the false Odarn.

The lookalike stood frozen for an instant, the centre of all attention, then launched himself at the real Odarn. Adalon dragged the young Billed One out of harm's way as the two Toothed Ones crashed together, snarling and roaring.

Before any of the other saur could move, the real Odarn managed to heave his lookalike backward. The lookalike roared and charged, but by this time Odarn had dragged his sword from its sheath.

Odarn was no soldier. He lifted the sword high and brought the flat crashing down on the head of his lookalike. It fell like a sack of grain.

Then, to the amazement of all, Odarn's lookalike crumbled like a poorly made pot. All that was left was a roughly saur-shaped pile of rubble.

Odarn looked down, then looked at his sword, which now had a definite bow in the middle. 'I didn't mean to do that,' he said.

Adalon got to his feet. 'Never mind. It looks as if they're not interested in talking.'

Hoolgar came out of the stable with a bundle of coarse white cloth. 'Everyone tear off a strip,' he said. 'Tie it around your upper arm. That way we'll be able to tell the true saur from the false.'

Adalon nodded and bound a strip Hoolgar handed him around his arm.
I should have thought of that,
he thought, and vowed to do better.

And so began the sweep through the castle. The story was the same. Whenever a lookalike was confronted, it attacked its original in a frenzy – no guile, no method, simply an animal reaction that the saur became ruthless at dealing with. The original would stand back, flanked by armed saur. When the lookalike charged, they would close in on either side. Short work was made.

They left piles of debris in halls and chambers, but suffered no injuries. Adalon saw his small troop growing in confidence.

'Maybe we should split up,' Bolggo suggested after they had dispatched a Long-necked lookalike in a drygoods storeroom. 'My lookalike is still waiting for me in the cellars. I want to introduce him to my mace.'

'No,' Adalon said. 'Let's keep our strength together. We'll get them all, never fear.'

He led them to the long hall that opened onto what they called the Assembly Chamber. All of the saur gazed up at the monumental tapestry as they passed. It was the only representation they had of the A'ak – and even here the figure at the head of the assembly of saur was shrouded in mist.

Adalon felt as if he were butting his head against the mystery. He had been in the presence of the A'ak, they had talked to him, yet he was no closer to knowing who or what they looked like.

A roar came from the other end of the Assembly Chamber. Adalon whirled to see a large Horned One charging toward them, clad in emerald green armour.

'Targesh!' he cried, waving his arms. 'It's me, Adalon!'

The Horned One lifted his massive neck shield and stumbled to a halt. He stared. 'Adalon? Hoolgar said you had perished!'

Targesh took Adalon in a bone-cracking embrace. Adalon pummelled him on the back, grinning, until he let go. Targesh was not a demonstrative type, but his staunch loyalty was immeasurable. 'Enough, enough, old friend,' said Adalon. 'Here, let me introduce you to Hoolgar.'

Targesh shook his neck shield and snorted. 'Hoolgar? Are you sure?'

Hoolgar stepped forward. 'Targesh. It is good to see you again. Although, to be correct, I must note that I am hearing you as well as seeing you. And smelling you, too, if the truth be told.'

Targesh rumbled. 'You're Hoolgar all right. Then who is the other one? He was taking Simangee to the chamber of power.'

Adalon snarled. Simangee was in the hands of the evil Hoolgar. 'A creature of the A'ak. We'll explain on the way to the tower.'

Targesh's brow grew black as they hurried through the corridors of the Lost Castle. Loyalty was a cornerstone of the Horned Ones' way of life; deceit and lies never sat well with them.

Adalon sprinted up the narrow stairway. Targesh was close behind him. Adalon's chest heaved as he sought to regain his breath. The room was full of magic, and who knew what mischief the lookalike could get up to.

The door to the room of power was open. A broken chair lay overturned. Simangee stood glaring, with the leg of a chair in one hand. Gormond was backed against one wall, staring at her with awe.

On the floor was a scatter of rubble.

Simangee lifted her head. 'Adalon,' she snapped. 'It's about time you were back. And you've brought the real Hoolgar, I assume.'

Gormond looked, wide-eyed, from the rubble to Hoolgar and back again. 'Simangee hit you on the head and you broke.'

'It was a servant of the A'ak,' Hoolgar said patiently. 'Their cunning nearly wrought havoc on us.'

'We have defended ourselves,' Adalon said. 'But the A'ak are pressing and Queen Tayesha's mad crusade is continuing. It is time for us to strike.'

'Where?' Simangee said. 'How? We have Gormond, therefore Tayesha cannot rule all Krangor.'

'With the armies she has at her command, she is not about to stop now,' Hoolgar said. 'Krangor is being laid to waste. It is hurt, and thus too weak to resist an onslaught by the A'ak.'

'We need to stop her advances,' Adalon said, 'and give the land time to heal.'

'We are too few,' Targesh said. 'We can't stop her armies.'

'What can we do that will make a difference?' Gormond asked.

A new voice broke into the room. It was hoarse, barely above a whisper. 'Two pieces only, it would take. Remove them from the board and we will win.'

Adalon stared. Standing in the doorway was the pale, gaunt figure of Moralon. 'Uncle! What are you doing here?'

Moralon ignored the question. 'Tayesha and Wargrach. Take them from the board.'

Queen Tayesha was alone in her study in the Needle. Despite the warmth of the day, a fire burned in the grate and she was glad for its meagre heat. She sat at the window seat, a small table by her side. An untouched loaf was on the table, next to a beaker of water.

The Queen gazed northwards past the city, over the rolling hills, toward the Astolet River. It was her domain, the land she had grown up in, and she felt a fondness for it that went beyond her formal duty. She loved the land, and always had.

In her hand she held two pebbles. They were dull grey and irregular in shape. She studied them for a moment, then closed her fist and brought the pebbles together. She summoned the power that had been granted to her and moved her attention to a barren spot, two or three leagues from the city walls. It was a treeless, sandy stretch with struggling spinebush and wanderweed, just before the hills began. She strove to heave up the spot, to create a hummock the size of a castle. It was the sort of magic she had done a thousand times before, the magic entrusted to her by the land itself.

Nothing happened, and deep inside, her spirit shrank a little. She clutched the pebbles and strained, her fingers turning white. In the distance, the earth groaned and cracked, then it folded itself, a mere ripple in its skin. A wagon passing over it would barely notice.

Tayesha hissed and open her hand. She stared at the pebbles and panted. Fear and doubt stung her as they had never done before. Her powers were diminishing rapidly since the encounter with the monster of stone. She must complete her plans soon or all would be lost.

A rap came at the door. She closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. 'Yes?' she said, and it took strength to make her voice steady.

'Wargrach has arrived from High Battilon, Your Majesty.'

'Have him wait and then usher him into the Throne Hall. I will be there.'

The walls of the Throne Hall trembled. Queen Tayesha barely noticed. The land had shaken constantly these past few weeks – so much so that she had grown accustomed to it. It was almost comforting, a reminder that the land was alive and needed tending.

She studied Wargrach, who stood at attention, the model of an obedient subject.

'You want us to attack Virriftinar?' she said, clutching the rough armrests of her stone throne. 'So soon after the fiasco at Sleeto? This is not what I summoned you to Challish to hear.'

'On top of our glorious triumph at Knobblond,' Wargrach reminded her, 'when we take Virriftinar, Sleeto will be forgotten.'

Tayesha felt weary. She put a hand to her forehead. 'It is something we must do.'

'And we should strike quickly. Our army is exultant, our losses were few. We are ready.'

'You sent out agents, as I requested, to search for more of the old books?'

'Nothing has come to light, Your Majesty,' Wargrach said carefully, 'but I have good saur scouring all Krangor for texts.'

Queen Tayesha pondered whether she should tell Wargrach how weak she was feeling. It may be good to have someone she could speak freely to. 'The A'ak are pressing,' she said. 'This is an awkward time.'

Wargrach grunted. 'I found a sage, Your Majesty, one with special knowledge of the A'ak. He says that their current activity is simply a testing of their bonds. They are throwing themselves against their imprisonment with no hope of success, like a young saur hammering against a barred door.'

'This is good news, Wargrach. Very good indeed.' She stood. 'You are right. The time to act is now.'

'Your Majesty?'

'My people need me to speed their success. I will ride at the head of our army as it sweeps into Virriftinar.'

Wargrach stared. 'This is unexpected, Your Majesty.'

'The times demand it, Wargrach.'

'Is this wise, though, Your Majesty? Your research will suffer.'

'I will ride under the Gralloch banner, the standard of my family. I will lead my saur.'

Wargrach looked down for a moment, then lifted his massive head. 'As Your Majesty wishes,' he growled. Then he nodded. 'If it pleases Your Majesty, take your household guard to Muhna. In two weeks, I will bring my eastern regiment to join the army already there.'

'Two weeks, Wargrach? What will you be doing until then?'

Wargrach smiled, and Tayesha – queen though she was – felt a chill at the soldier's fierceness. 'I'll be taking care of a problem, Your Majesty. One that has been irritating us for some time.'