The Lost Realm (43 page)

Restored! And then she'll remember me at last!

Gulph tried to imagine how it would feel to meet Kalia's eye and see not uncertainty but recognition. Understanding.

Love.

He thought it would feel very good.

Crossing the narrow finger of crystal that ran across the lake, Gulph and Ossilius had a good view of the Celestian shoreline, where hundreds of people were busy constructing crystal barricades and stockpiling glistening swords. Preparing for battle. To Gulph their activity looked both brave and hopeless. If Brutan succeeded in bringing his undead army down here, the Celestians wouldn't stand a chance.

There's only one person who can stop this invasion
, he thought grimly.
And that's me.

At last they reached the line of pillars marking the edge of the Celestian realm. Passing between them, they exited into the open space at the bottom of the chasm.

Gulph stared up into darkness. Behind him, within the crystal confines of Celestis, the eternal twilight lingered. In the world above, night had fallen.

They made their way to the chasm wall. Ossilius had his sword drawn, in case they were attacked by any undead fallen from Idilliam. But nothing moved in the darkness, and they reached their goal unmolested.

“Well,” said Gulph. “Here we are. I suppose—”

Before he could say more, Ossilius had pulled him into a fierce hug. “Come back, Gulph. Be sure to come back. Fessan is still lost to me, and I fear he may never be found. I could not bear to lose another son.”

Gulph felt as though his breath had been taken away. Did Ossilius realize what he'd just said? He'd been longing for Kalia to recognize him, yet it was this former captain of the King's Legion who had uttered the single word he never thought he'd hear from anyone.

Son. Is that really how he thinks of me?

His heart full, Gulph planted his hands on the cold rock of the chasm wall. High above was Idilliam. He had to get there before Brutan sent the rest of his undead army into the tunnels.

“Are you sure about this, Gulph?” said Ossilius. He was looking uneasily up into the blackness. “Nobody has ever climbed the chasm before.”

“It's our only chance.”

Gulph dug one toe into a crevice in the rock, put another onto a tiny ledge a little farther up. He pulled with his arms. He moved his feet again, one at a time, little movements, quick but careful. He'd made more difficult climbs in his life, but never one so high.

Don't think about it. Concentrate on where you are right now. One hand at a time. One foot. Little by little, Gulph. It's the only way.

In the blackness of the chasm, clinging like an insect to the sheer rock wall, Gulph began the climb of his life.

T
he first thing Tarlan saw as they flew toward the fortress town of Deep Poynt was the flames.

We're too late!

His heart clenched as he guided Theeta over the burning buildings. The fierce orange glow of the fire lit up the night and sent waves of heat crashing against the thorrod's wings. Below, hundreds of people were fleeing, running out through the town's main gate and onto the hillside beyond.

Straight into the clutches of the Galadronians!

In desperation, he cast his eyes out across the landscape, seeking out the enemy.

“There they are, Theeta!” he cried, pointing at a line of soldiers lurking at the edge of the forest that surrounded the hill. “Why are they holding back?”

One glance back at Deep Poynt answered his question. The town was surrounded by earth embankments and thick, log-built walls. Sharpened wooden stakes jutted at angles from the embankments, looking for all the world like jagged teeth. Anyone trying to storm the defenses would be impaled on these stakes before they could reach the walls.

Having poured out through the high defensive wall surrounding their homes, the people of Deep Poynt were now taking shelter behind this barricade of stakes.

“Fireflies,” croaked Theeta, swinging around to face the Galadronians again.

More soldiers had emerged from the trees, carrying the strange sidebows Tarlan had first seen on the beach. As he watched, they fired a tremendous volley of burning arrows into the heart of the town. No sooner had they done this than battalions of foot soldiers emerged from the trees. As they formed up into ranks, they beat their swords against their shields and yelled out battle cries. The shouting and clattering combined into a single, gigantic roar.

“Come on, Theeta!” Tarlan shouted over the noise. “There's no time to waste!”

If they were afraid, the Isurian townspeople didn't show it. But Tarlan could see how vulnerable they were. Although they were well armed with swords and conventional longbows, they were trapped between the town's outer wall and the ring of stakes, forced to cower behind their shields as the enemy arrows rained down.

As Theeta swooped in through the smoke, a group of townspeople emerged from the trees to the south. They'd somehow managed to outflank the Galadronians, catching the enemy off guard.

Tarlan's heart lifted as Isurian swords came down on the colorful armor of the invading soldiers. He clenched his fists tighter into Theeta's feathers, willing the people of Deep Poynt to succeed.

However, bravely as they fought, they were hopelessly outnumbered. The Galadronian archers fell back, allowing the assembled foot soldiers to advance and engage their attackers. The sound of clashing blades rose up to where Theeta was circling, high overhead, and the ground turned red with blood.

Suddenly Tarlan spotted a familiar figure striding through the melee, cutting down Isurians with great swings of his curved sword.

Tyro!

“The sooner we get rid of him, the quicker this will all be over,” he muttered.

“Pack now,” Theeta urged.

Tarlan nodded. “Yes. Let's go.”

Tarlan guided Theeta away from the battle to a nearby stand of pine trees. The giant thorrod landed with difficulty on a densely wooded slope, where Kassan was waiting for them on his horse.

The boy looked pale and afraid. Windracer stamped the ground nervously.

“It's horrible,” Kassan said the instant Theeta touched down. “My dad told me we were safe in Deep Poynt.”

“I'm not sure anyone's safe against the weapons these Galadronians have brought.”

“They'll smash the walls.” Kassan was close to tears. “There's nothing we can do.”

“They won't,” Tarlan replied, holding tight as Theeta reared up, cawing agreement. “And there's plenty we can do.”

His heart lifted as Filos, Greythorn, and Brock emerged from the trees. Moonlight flashed on their fur, then was briefly shadowed as Kitheen flew over their heads. The creatures on the ground halted beside Windracer and gazed expectantly up at Tarlan, while the thorrod hovered above.

“What are your orders, Tarlan?” growled Greythorn. His lips were curled back from his teeth, and his muscles were twitching beneath his gray pelt. Like his companions, he looked edgy.

“Is the pack ready?” Tarlan glanced into the shadowy forest. He could feel the presence of hundreds—no, thousands—of animals, all poised among the trees, awaiting their orders.

My orders.

“Yes, Tarlan,” Greythorn answered. “We are ready.”

“Good.” Tarlan shouted up to the hovering thorrod. “Kitheen! Fly west as fast as you can. Find Nasheen and Melchior, and bring them back even faster. I have a feeling we're going to need a wizard before the night's out.”

Kitheen continued to hold his place in the sky, driving his enormous wings relentlessly against the night air. The thorrod said nothing, as usual, but the furious gleam in his eye told Tarlan everything he needed to know.

“Don't worry,” Tarlan told him. “You'll get your chance to fight. Now go! And fly like you've never flown before!”

Silently, Kitheen turned away and accelerated toward the distant ocean. By the time Tarlan had taken three breaths, he'd dwindled to a tiny dot and vanished from sight.

“Thorrod fast,” Theeta remarked.

“Like the wind.” Tarlan had never seen such a turn of speed from any of the thorrods. However well he thought he knew these giants of the sky, still they managed to surprise him. He turned back to Greythorn, Filos, and Brock. “Now it's your turn.”

Brock rose onto his hind legs. “We fight now?”

“Soon. I need the three of you to rally the pack, and then wait. Make sure they're ready and that they understand the difference between the Galadronians and the people of Deep Poynt. Tell them that the enemy wear clothes of bright colors and have metal armor and weapons that curve like”—he glanced up at the sky—“the crescent moon. But they have to wait until the moment is right. That's very important. Don't let them advance on the Galadronians.”

“How can we fight these enemies if we don't go to them?” Filos asked.

“You're not going to them.”

“We're not?”

“No! I'm going to bring them to you!”

The three animals had emerged from the forest appearing nervous. Now they stood tall, stiff-necked. They looked ready for anything.

If I'm strong, they're strong too
, Tarlan thought, his chest swelling with pride.

“Kassan!” he cried as Theeta lifted him once more into the air. “Be ready!” As they climbed skyward, the boy's face fell away, a pale oval glowing bright in the moonlight.

Returning to the battlefield, Tarlan saw that more of the Isurians had emerged from their defenses to engage the enemy. He wasn't surprised. Their town was already burning; what choice did they have but to fight?

He watched tensely as four Isurian men charged down the hill, waving their swords and screaming. Two were cut down instantly by arrows; their comrades ran on without even slowing. Each man felled several Galadronians before they themselves fell.

Tarlan was impressed by their bravery. Though the Galadronians had more sophisticated weapons and greater numbers, those defending the town battled ferociously.

Of course they do
, he thought grimly.
They're fighting for their lives.

It didn't take him long to spot Tyro again: the big man's bright red cloak was unmistakable. His face was splashed with blood; his beard was soaked in it. He was crimson from head to toe.

Tarlan drew his sword and drove Theeta into an accelerating dive.

“Tyro!” he yelled, the wind whipping the words from his mouth. “I'm coming for you!”

Tyro looked up. He seemed more pleased than surprised. Whirling his sword, he made rapid hand signals to a rank of nearby archers. Their sidebows lifted in unison. At once Theeta began weaving from side to side.

Tyro's arm came down. A volley of arrows buzzed through the air, barely missing them. Trusting the thorrod to carve a true course through the deadly rain, Tarlan shouted again.

“You won't win, Tyro!”

“Bring them down,” bellowed the bearded man. “Kill the barbarian! He must not leave alive!”

More arrows flew. Theeta dodged them all, swinging left and right. When they were almost upon Tyro, she extended her legs and opened her claws.

“No!” warned Tarlan. “Remember the plan!”

Cawing her frustration, Theeta retracted her claws and swooped over Tyro's head. The wind she made almost knocked the big man over. Tarlan heard him curse in a guttural language he didn't recognize. Then they were past, climbing hard into the night.

“Around!” Tarlan urged. “Go around, Theeta. Head straight for the woods!”

In no time at all they'd left the battle behind again. Glancing back, Tarlan saw Tyro waving his sword in triumph.

“Retreating so soon?” the Galadronian commander shouted after them. He made more hand signals; at once a whole battalion of his army—Tarlan guessed it was perhaps one hundred soldiers—separated from the rest and ran in pursuit of the low-flying thorrod.

Just as Tarlan had hoped.

Theeta flew low, staying in sight of the pursuing enemy at all times, drawing them on. At first Tarlan worried that the dense forest would hold them back; to his relief he saw that the leading wave of soldiers carried lightweight machines with whirling blades. These contraptions sliced easily through the thick undergrowth, creating a wide path along which the rest of the battalion could follow.

So that's how they got here so quickly from the coast.

Tarlan closed his eyes, sent out his thoughts. He could sense his pack waiting. It was vast: a mighty army armed with tooth and fang, waiting in the shadows for the order to attack.

Not yet
, he told them as Theeta's wings clipped the topmost leaves from the trees.
Not yet.

Battle cries rose up from the Galadronian soldiers. Theeta had slowed a little, allowing them to close the gap almost to nothing. Arrows began whistling past Tarlan's head.