Chronicles of the Red King #3: Leopards' Gold (14 page)

In the language of the secret kingdom, a language that Llyr could barely understand, the king spoke to his spirit ancestors. A moment passed; the king lifted his head and pushed the eagle helmet away from him. And there, before him on the table, sat a second helmet, identical to the first in every detail.

“Tomorrow, early, I want you to take the old one to the smiths.” King Timoken nodded at the object of Lilith’s awful spell. “Tell them to melt it down, burn the poison out of it, and watch them do it, Llyr.”

“I will.” Llyr scooped the helmet into his sack.

“We will do the same with all the others,” said the king. “We don’t know if Lilith has tampered with them. But first let’s take this to Amadis.”

Leaving the sack by the door, Llyr picked up his staff and they stepped out into the courtyard, where a black horse stood, quiet and patient, with the wolf Greyfleet beside him. Already mounted, Amadis wore his chain mail beneath a padded yellow tunic. The tunic was decorated with a wolf and an eagle in red and gold thread. The wolf and the eagle appeared again on the shield that hung from his saddle. His head was bare and his thick hair looked white gold in the moonlight.

“You’re still determined to do this tonight, Amadis?” asked the king. “In another day we could ride out together.”

“I must leave now, Father,” Amadis replied solemnly. “I have harmed my sister and until I have redeemed myself, I cannot think of returning.”

“Amadis, she would have harmed you,” said Llyr.

“Nevertheless!” Amadis gave the wizard a rueful smile.

“But alone?” said Llyr.

“I shall not be alone.” Amadis glanced down at Greyfleet, and almost as a reminder, there came a cry from an eagle circling above him. “They are my ears and eyes,” he said.

The king handed his son the newly made helmet, saying, “The only magic in this is for your protection.”

“Thank you, Father.”

When Amadis had put on the helmet, he turned his horse toward the South Gate. Llyr strode before him and, at a light touch from his staff, the tall doors swung open.

Amadis rode out of the castle with Greyfleet keeping pace beside the horse. As Llyr and the king watched them enter the forest, seven dark forms rose out of the grass at the edge of the trees. Greyfleet’s brothers. The wolves followed horse and rider into the shadows, and soon the only creature to be seen was a night owl, perched in a high branch, calling advice to the prince who could understand him.

F
riar Gereint’s teeth had been giving him trouble for some time. Next morning, when angry roars from the courtyard began to disturb his lesson, the friar’s toothache became unbearable. Eventually, his head sank onto his chest and, waving his hand at the children, he muttered, “Class dismissed. Leave! Leave! I must be alone with my teeth!”

“Go and see the wizards, Friar Gereint,” Guanhamara suggested. “They’re good at extractions.”

“Mmmmmmm!” moaned the friar. “How shall I eat without teeth?”

Guanhamara had no answer for this. She quickly left the classroom and joined her brothers outside. They were rather enjoying the spectacle of Borlath in a rage. Roaring and spitting oaths, he stormed about in angry circles while small tongues of flame flared from his fingertips. Everyone who had to pass him gave a little leap of fright or surprise, especially the ladies who feared for their fine silk dresses.

The king appeared from the sanatorium, where he’d been checking on Gunfrid’s progress. Borlath charged toward him.

“Amadis has gone!” roared Borlath. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“Why should you be told?” said the king. “Your brother made his decision late last night.”

“We were to leave together. All of us. It’s not right for Amadis to be alone.”

“He is not alone,” said the king. “And well you know it.”

“Eagles and wolves,” Borlath muttered as he marched off. “Otters and hares, ducks and geese, voles and sparrows. I’d rather have an army.”

The children looked at one another. Guanhamara raised her eyebrows and said, “Amadis gone? I wonder why?”

Petrello shrugged. He felt uneasy. Beside him, Tolly rubbed his shoulder and whispered, “When shall I ask about the cloak?”

“Now,” said Petrello when he saw Borlath striding into the second courtyard.

As their father walked toward the aerie, the children ran to catch up with him.

“Father,” cried Tolly. “May I speak with you?”

The king turned. “What’s the trouble, Tolomeo?”

Tolly, glancing at the passing courtiers, said in a low voice, “I have a problem that is secret — and personal.”

The king frowned. “Come into the cloisters.”

They followed their father into the covered walkway that ran beside the wall. The king continued on his way to the wizards’ tower, but slowed his pace as Tolly began to talk. Petrello and his sister, walking behind, could hardly hear Tolly’s hushed voice as he described the tiny wings that had sprouted from his shoulder blades. And then Tolly’s voice rose suddenly and a shuddering sigh escaped him. “I can’t bear it that people will see my wings and think I’m different, peculiar, not normal. I’m a freak, Father, aren’t I?”

The king stopped. He turned to Tolly and, putting a hand on his shoulder, said, “You are not a freak, Tolomeo. You have wings, and soon you will be able to fly. We shall fly together, you and I. Imagine how wonderful that will be.”

Tolly stared at his father and a slow smile began to light his face. But the king’s words had a different effect on Petrello. They made him feel inexplicably lonely. How amazing it would be to fly with his father.

“Trello said that if I had a cloak made of feathers, like Wyngate’s, people wouldn’t notice my wings,” Tolly said earnestly. “Not while they’re growing, anyway.”

“I see,” said the king. “People’s stares will make you feel uncomfortable.”

“And they will stare, won’t they, Father?” Guanhamara put in.

“For a while, yes,” the king agreed. “Let us pay a visit to Wyngate; the library is on our way.”

Wyngate was at his usual table, books, maps, and pages spread before him. But when the king and his children entered the library, they found the book guardian on his hands and knees before the entrance. He immediately became very flustered and got to his feet, holding a large book, some of whose pages lay scattered on the floor.

“Forgive the state we’re in, Your Majesty,” whined old Moreau. “That sudden Vanishing caused such a displacement, many pages have been loosened and I’ve been at my wit’s end….”

“Your guardianship is faultless, my dear Moreau,” said the king. “Please don’t let us interrupt you.”

“Thank you! Thank you, Your Majesty.” With a deep bow, Moreau backed away to his desk, where he began to rearrange the loose pages of the large book.

Wyngate was so engrossed in his work he was totally unaware of all that had been going on behind him. When the king touched his shoulder, he jumped off his stool and his feathered cap went flying. Guanhamara caught it with her thumb.

Before the king could say a word, the investigator exclaimed, “King Timoken, I might have known it. You have come at exactly the right moment.” Guanhamara handed him his cap, and he continued almost without taking a breath. “Thank you, Princess. As I said, the right moment exactly, because only a blink of an eye ago I discovered a place where another crystal might be found. I say ‘might’ because, of course, one can never be sure.”

“That is very good news, Wyngate,” said the king. “May I borrow your cloak for a moment?”

Wyngate looked puzzled. “What has my cloak to do with a crystal?”

“Nothing at all,” said the king. “Nevertheless, may I?” The king held out his hand.

“None of these birds, or should I say feathers, I mean, none of the birds whose feathers are here in my cloak …” Wyngate often rambled in this way. He was quite relaxed about it. “Not one met its death at my hands. I want you to know that.”

“I do know it,” said the king. “But please, may I borrow your feathered cloak?”

“Naturally.” Wyngate stood up, carefully removed his cloak, and handed it to the king.

The children stroked the cloak’s shining feathers, Tolly with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s so beautiful,” sighed Guanhamara.

The king felt he should explain why he wanted Wyngate’s cloak. It didn’t seem fair to use it without its owner sharing their secret, so the king leaned close to the investigator and said in a low voice, “My son Tolomeo is about to fly.”

Wyngate’s eyes widened. “Wings?” he whispered, glancing hastily at the book guardian.

“Indeed.” The king’s eyes danced. “But we want to disguise them for a while.”

Wyngate looked at Tolly. “It will be too long for him.”

“I can correct that,” said the king.

“Of course.” Wyngate smiled at Tolly. “I shall be pleased to share my feathers with someone so exceptional.”

Again, Petrello felt that surprising twinge of loneliness.

The king was already at work. The children loved to see the way he multiplied. Even though it was a useful, everyday sort of magic, it set their minds alight thinking of possibilities. What fun they could have, multiplying every object in the castle. The king never used his gift for fun, and he told them it was impossible to multiply a living creature.

Turning his head the slightest fraction, the book guardian glanced sideways. He could only see the king’s back, but he could tell that something rather unusual was going on. Why had Wyngate taken off his cloak? Oh, there he was, putting it on again. Nothing special about that, then. Moreau went back to work. He heard the king thank Wyngate, and then the little group of children were running out of the library.

“Don’t run!” The book guardian couldn’t stop himself from reprimanding the children, even though the king was present.

“Sorry, Moreau!” said the boy in the cloak of feathers.

“Cloak of feathers,” Moreau said to himself. “Did that child have it on when he came in?” He looked at Wyngate, shook his head, and continued to glue loose pages into the precious book.

“Well done, Moreau,” said the king, striding past. “Your library is excellently arranged.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Moreau almost fell off his stool with pride.

The king had already joined his children in the courtyard when they heard Wyngate’s shout. The investigator came bounding down the steps, crying, “Wait, King Timoken. I forgot to tell you — it may have no bearing on Rigg’s disappearance, and yet …”

“Tell me,” said the king.

The children moved closer as Wyngate lowered his voice. “Once or twice, when I visited the wizards. Rigg was there. He liked to look at Eri’s books. He could read and write and was interested in wizardry. It occurred to me that Rigg might have seen the list of ingredients for Eri’s potion.”

“Which potion, Wyngate?” asked the king. “There are so many.”

Wyngate pulled his feathered cap down over his ears. “The mixture that added potency to the Seeing Crystal.”

The king rubbed his forehead. “I remember. The crystal already made a sound that alerted us, but before it was dipped in Eri’s potion, the approaching dangers were never clear.”

Guanhamara couldn’t help herself. With a little jump, she asked, “So do you think that Rigg was abducted and maybe tortured until he told — whoever they are — about the secret ingredients of the potion that helps the crystal to see?”

The king and Wyngate looked at her. They had almost forgotten the children were listening. The boys shut their mouths tight, surprised by their sister’s boldness. They expected a reprimand, but none came.

“It’s possible,” said the investigator. “But Rigg was loyal through and through. He was as stubborn as a mule. He would never betray the wizards’ secret, unless …” He frowned suddenly and stared into the distance.

“Children, you should be at your lessons,” said the king.

“Friar Gereint has a toothache,” Petrello told him.

“Then go and see Gunfrid. He misses your company. I must have further discussions with our investigator.” The king waved the children away, adding, “Take care of that cloak, Tolomeo.”

“I will, and thank you, Father.”

The three children ambled toward the sanatorium. One question was on all their minds. It was Petrello who voiced it. “Who knew that Rigg knew the recipe for the Seeing Crystal?”

“Only the wizards, surely,” said his sister.

“There must be someone else.” Petrello recalled the investigator’s expression. There was something about it that suggested he had an idea who the traitor might be.

In the sanatorium they found Zeba pushing Gunfrid around the beds in his new wheeled chair. He looked very happy with it, but his legs were still weak.

Gunfrid had two other visitors. Vyborn and Cafal, of all people. They were sitting on one of the beds, watching the strange and rather splendid contraption that Zeba was maneuvering about the room.

“Poor boy,” Cafal mumbled. “I’m going to help. Zeba can’t push that chair over the big cobblestones.”

Vyborn had been eyeing Tolly’s new cloak. Suddenly, he jumped off the bed and snatched at a feather.

“Don’t!” cried Tolly, whirling around.

“Where did you get that cloak?” Vyborn demanded. “I want one. Why can’t I have a cloak of feathers?”

“You can,” said Petrello. “All you have to do is turn into a bird.”

“Ooh, yes!” A nasty expression crossed Vyborn’s face, and Petrello wished he hadn’t spoken.

Too late. Black feathers began to push through Vyborn’s cheeks. His nose vanished and a yellow beak poked out from the center of his face. Glossy wings lifted from his shoulders. Feathers pushed their way through his shirt, and he gave a little jump.

Zeba hastily pulled her brother’s chair away from the unfriendly looking bird. It gave another jump, and then a muffled voice, somewhere behind its beak, said, “Why can’t I fly? I’m a bird. Why can’t I fly?”

“Because you can’t imagine what it’s like,” said Guanhamara.

“I’m tired of hearing that.” The bird lunged at Guanhamara and pecked her arm.

“Ouch!” She leaped back, and then began to giggle.

The bird flapped its wings furiously. It squawked and screamed. Cafal ran from the room. His own beastlike form came to him unbidden, at night, when the last thing he wanted was to be a wild creature. He had never asked for the terrible peculiarity that he’d been given, and he couldn’t bear to see his small brother choosing it and turning into animals that pecked and scratched and gored and bit.

Seeing Cafal run like that, Petrello had a sudden thought. Rigg was a kind man, fierce but protective. He often took younger men under his wing, taught them how to ring the bells, to make their letters, and to read names and signs.

Cafal was often seen with Rigg. Had Rigg thoughtlessly, but out of friendship, told Cafal that he knew the secret of the Seeing Crystal?