The King in Reserve (4 page)

The magical steeds galloped arrow-swift across the countryside. In the early light of dawn, forest, hills and grasslands melted underneath the flashing brass hoofs. They burst through forests, skirted marshes and leaped over streams. What would have taken weeks for foot soldiers took only hours for the A'ak steeds.

Overhead, two dozen Winged Ones escorted the riders, scouting ahead for danger. The other half of the Winged Ones squad was searching further afield, looking for King Gormond of Knobblond.

As the day stretched past noon and into the evening without the steeds slackening their thunderous passage, Adalon found himself imagining hordes of A'ak crossing Krangor on such riding beasts. The thought chilled him, and the shadows extending across the lightly wooded countryside did nothing to dispel this feeling.

And yet,
he thought as the brass steeds thundered on,
I'm willing to use their magical beasts, to wear their armour, use their weapons.

One hand left the reins and crept to the sword at his belt. The hilt felt good when he gripped it. He knew its keenness would be useful if it came to a fight, and his sky-blue armour was better than any he'd ever worn before. The A'ak knew their business. And if he was strong, he felt he could use them without succumbing to their whispering.

It was a struggle, resisting the voices of the A'ak weapons, the A'ak armour. He knew they wanted to make him cruel and fearless, like the A'ak, but he shuddered at that prospect. He was quite happy being Adalon of the Eastern Peaks, with his fumblings and fears. At least they were his own.

Ahead, the south branch of the Astolet River wound its way across the flat border region between Thraag and Knobblond. The two branches of the Astolet formed the northern and southern borders of the narrow kingdom of Knobblond, and at the place where they met sprawled Muhna, the capital.

Adalon had visited Knobblond only once, when his father had taken him on a leisurely visit. Young Adalon had been struck by the vast walls that surrounded Muhna, thick and high, as if the twin rivers were not protection enough. His father had told him how the early Plated One rulers had simply applied the notion of their own armour to the design of their dwelling place.

The Knobblonders had been shrewd enough to make the most of their central position in the western half of the vast continent of Krangor. Goods flowed from Thraag in the south to Virriftinar and Bondorborar in the north, aided by the barges that went up and down the two branches of the Astolet. Muhna grew rich on trade.

'We cross the river at Muhna?' Targesh asked when they drew close to the tree-lined river. He leaned forward in his saddle and scratched his neck shield.

Adalon eased his seat and stretched his tail. His magical armour was comfortable, but he still felt the effects of the hours of riding. 'Let us see what our scouts say.'

He looked up at the darkening sky and waved. Almost immediately, a Winged One swooped down and landed.

'Kikkalak,' Simangee said, and laughed, 'you've been keeping an eye on us?'

The young Winged One lieutenant clacked her beak-like mouth and gave them a sour look. 'You groundlings need someone responsible to watch over you. You'd stumble over your own feet otherwise.'

'What news?' Adalon asked. 'Any sign of our missing king?'

'Hah.' Kikkalak used her spear to scratch her back. 'Woods, forests, scrub everywhere. Lots of places to hide.'

'And the Queen's troops?' Targesh asked.

'Plenty of them, scrambling all over, both sides of the river. Bumbling, mostly, it looks like. I saw a patrol stranded in a marsh a few miles to the northeast, but none around here.'

'What about Muhna?' Simangee asked.

'A Thraag hive.' Kikkalak spat in the dust. 'More troops there than anywhere. Probably the loungers who don't want to do the dirty work out in the countryside.'

Adalon dismounted, removed his helmet and stretched. 'It sounds as if it would be pointless to try to enter Muhna, then.'

'The King fled,' Simangee reminded them. 'It's the last place he'd be.'

'Where else could we cross the river?' Adalon asked Kikkalak.

'No bridges around here. A village a few miles to the north-east has a ferry,' she said, and pointed with her spear.

Adalon's tail twitched. To cross the river or not? Where was the best place to look for King Gormond?

Adalon had little knowledge of the ruler of Knobblond. He was young, the youngest of the rulers of the seven kingdoms – a full three years younger than Adalon himself – and was known to be a keen upholder of the Plated One heritage and all it stood for – strength in adversity, resistance in the face of hardship, perseverance against the odds. He was reputed, however, to have a modern approach to these values, and was much loved for it by his subjects.

So where would a fugitive king go?

'Kikkalak, can you assemble your scouts? We need to hear what they've seen.'

'We'll join you soon.' The Winged One turned and jogged off, leaping into the air after she had built up enough speed. She banked and soared away to the east, her wings blocking the first of the evening stars.

Simangee took out a pocket harp and strummed a few notes. 'I don't suppose we could rest a while and make some tea?'

Targesh rumbled an agreement, but Adalon shook his head. 'We should press on, while we have light.'

To the soft sounds of the pocket harp, they ambled along the edge of the mighty Astolet River. It was slow and broad here – only a gifted archer could send an arrow across its breadth. Thick stands of trees lined both banks, and on this southern side they were glad to find a track that led through the undergrowth.

A grating screech overhead made Adalon look up. Through the thick canopy he saw that Kikkalak had found her two companies of Winged Ones. She shook her spear in greeting, banked overhead, then folded her wings and dropped through the trees.

Adalon cried out but Kikkalak caught a tree branch to slow her descent, then swung and dropped right in front of them. Close behind came the other Winged Ones, leaping from branch to branch before landing as lightly as thistledown.

Adalon felt like applauding. 'You found your scouts more quickly than you thought, Kikkalak?'

'They were looking for me, which helped.' She gestured at the company of Winged Ones. They varied in height, but all were lean, with the long stringy muscles of their kind. They chattered excitedly, some rattling their spears on the small, round shields the Winged Ones favoured. 'They've found your missing king,' Kikkalak announced proudly.

Adalon grinned. 'You truly are wonder workers! I salute you!'

Kikkalak did her best to grumble and wave this away, but Adalon could see her satisfaction. 'You can do no better than rely on the eyes of Winged Ones. It was Theera who found the King and his saur. She can see a flea on the back of a rabbit at a hundred paces.'

Theera was a small Winged One with a patch of white scales on one cheek. She grinned and waved.

'Can we go to him now?' Adalon asked Kikkalak. The night was drawing in more quickly than he'd anticipated.

Kikkalak shrugged. 'Your beasts are fast, as land beasts go. If you don't mind riding in the dark it shouldn't take long. Eastwards, toward the mountains, this side of the river.'

Adalon only hesitated for an instant. 'Lead on, Kikkalak.'

Wargrach brooded at the head of the high table in the Great Hall of High Battilon, the ducal seat of the Eastern Peaks province. It had taken three days to journey across Thraag to his stronghold, and his cronies were rejoicing at his reappearance. Sourly, he studied the feasting, carousing rabble that were his officers and cursed himself for leaving Challish so abruptly.

He could not afford to upset Queen Tayesha and yet he had let his temper get the better of him. He'd stormed out of the palace, the red mist of anger clouding his judgement. Patience was his long-time ally and yet it had failed him as if he were a blood-hungry young saur.

He blamed his wounds. His bones ached if he stayed in one place too long. Queen Tayesha had rewarded him after the conquest of Knobblond, but after that she'd paid no attention to him. The few times he'd ventured to any of the barracks and encampments around Challish she'd recalled him on one pretext or other. It was as if she was afraid to have him near, but reluctant to have him leave.

He snorted. A young Plated One nearby looked at him, but turned away quickly at the fierceness of Wargrach's stare.

No,
Wargrach thought, hardly even noticing the young saur.
I
know better than to try to deceive myself.

It was true that he'd been impatient. It was also true that his old wounds were playing up. But these things were nothing new. He'd learned to deal with them and to bide his time.

The truth lay in the old books he'd gathered – the ones he hadn't given to Queen Tayesha.

In Challish, these curious texts had been much on his mind. The hints he'd read haunted him while he was away from them. They disturbed his sleep, and more than once he woke trembling. Eventually, he needed to see them again, to pore over them to see if they could reveal more about the return of the A'ak.

He ground his teeth together. If the A'ak came back, all his plans could be spoiled. But if they were as powerful as legend said, was there anything he could do?

Yes,
he thought,
I can prepare.

And preparation – for the A'ak or for the anger of Queen Tayesha – was going to be difficult. When he had arrived back in the Eastern Peaks he'd found it abandoned. The entire population of the mountain province had vanished, leaving farms, houses, whole villages empty. The castle of High Battilon had been left vacant, doors swinging in the wind, with animals wandering in and out as if they owned it.

As well, his cronies had scattered, fearful that their leader was in disgrace, or defeated, or dead. When he'd returned, they crawled back, shamefaced, glad to abandon the grim life of the outlaw they'd been forced to live. He had made his displeasure known. It was remarkable how this inspired his followers to find hidden caches of food, to spring to repairing the castle, to do all they could to make their leader proud.

He raised a claw. Instantly, a Horned One lieutenant dropped his goblet, leaped up and hurried to his commander's side.

'Take a message to the Queen,' Wargrach growled. 'Tell her I've come to the Eastern Peaks to quell an uprising against her. Grovel, apologise, do what you need to. Beg forgiveness, assure her of my loyalty, abase yourself. Leave now, make all haste.'

The Horned One saluted and was gone.

Wargrach scratched at his empty eye socket. That would have to do.

The feasting saur were growing louder as they devoured more food, ale and wine. He stood. The diners were on their feet, instantly. Wargrach was pleased. Respect was good.

'Eat your fill,' he said. 'You deserve it after the glory you won in Knobblond. But tomorrow we have work to do. Our army needs to grow, quickly. You and your troops will have to find saur to press into our service. You will scour the countryside. You will hunt. You will squeeze the saur from their hiding places. You will be relentless.'

As he limped away, a roar filled the hall and shook the lanterns until shadows lurched around the many-beamed ceiling.

Wargrach made his way to a library near the Great Hall, a narrow room whose walls were entirely made up of bookshelves, the tallest only reachable from wheeled ladders. It was lit by lamps that did little to illuminate the upper rows of books. It was cold in the room, with no fire burning, but he approved. He was convinced that too much softness had ruined the saur of today. True saur, those who shared his views, were hard to find, which was why he was a solitary saur.

Wargrach had made the library his own. A single long table groaned under the weight of the tomes that he had been using, all arranged carefully without a sign of disarray. Wargrach studied his work, wondering if anyone else would see that the A'ak were the prey in this hunt through forests of paper.

He grunted and stumped to the far wall. He parted two large books and thrust in his hand. When he heaved, a whole section of the wall swung open. Standing and blinking in the sudden light were Wargrach's chief spies, Varchog and Irjag.

Varchog, a gaunt Long-necked One, jerked his neck in a horrible twitch. 'Many thanks, General. It was getting stuffy in there.'

Irjag glanced at his partner and stepped into the library. He scratched at his plated shoulders. 'You wanted us, General?'

'Want you? Hardly. Need you? Perhaps.' Wargrach regarded the two spies with distaste. They had proved useful over the years, but only because Wargrach had never trusted them. He'd paid for their loyalty, but he knew it only lasted as long as no-one made them a better offer.

'What can we do for you, sir?' Varchog asked.

'Do you remember the skirmish at Grat? Twelve years ago?'

Irjag grinned and Wargrach barely stopped himself shuddering.

'Near the Harchgrond Swamp?' said Varchog. 'How could I forget? You were ambushed by that bandit chief.'

'Carjillo, he called himself,' Irjag put in. 'Mean one, that.'

'He thought he had you done for, General, outnumbered your patrol by four to one,' added Varchog.

Wargrach waved this away. 'He underestimated me, but he wasn't the first to make that mistake. But that's not important. Do you remember the ruins nearby? We drove the bandits toward them but they wouldn't enter. They tried to run the other way and we cut them down.'

'Ruins?' Varchog asked, clearly interested.

Irjag saw the opportunity to look superior to Varchog. 'I remember. Old, they were. Old ruins.'

Varchog glared at his partner. 'What did you want with them, General?'

'A Billed One lives in those ruins. I want you to bring him to me.' Wargrach laced his hands on his chest, remembering. After the battle, he'd been curious about the ruins and had left his patrol and explored by himself. The Billed One was ancient, but Wargrach had no doubts that he was still alive. Not after what the Billed One had told him.

'A Billed One?' Varchog repeated. 'What if he doesn't want to come with us?'

'Use your imagination.'

Irjag nodded frantically, then his neck jerked. 'Don't worry, General. He'll come.'

After the two spies had left, Wargrach stood and pondered his decision for some time. The A'ak couldn't be ignored. He was certain they were coming, and he was certain they would be coming in strength. The Way of the Tooth told him what to do when facing a foe who was overwhelmingly mighty.
Join strength with strength, ally power with power, then crush your foes together.

He closed his good eye. Could he deal with the A'ak and survive?