Crown of Three (22 page)

Limmoni was on the far spur, riding headlong toward the gap. There was no horse in the world that could jump it.

Beneath the shattered bridge, the air was filled with people, falling. Their arms and legs thrashed. In the absence of the thunder, Gulph could hear their screams.

Limmoni's horse reached the end of the falling spur. As her steed's hind legs kicked backward, she stood up in the saddle. Both her hands left the reins. As she raised them high, dazzling light burst from them.

As the horse soared over the gap, not just jumping but
flying
, the light knitted itself into a glowing mesh. The mesh flew out and down, becoming a net that surrounded the falling people and gathered them up. A net of light and life.

Limmoni closed her hands together and the net rose up out of the chasm. Her expression was agonized as she fought to keep it aloft. The net drifted over the crowd, finally depositing its precious cargo safely on the grass sward before the castle keep.

The white horse touched down and galloped on. Limmoni slammed down into the saddle, looking utterly spent. The net vanished, leaving the rescued people to clamber to their feet, eyes agog at their savior.

The lights in Limmoni's hands winked out.

Just as the horse reached Idilliam and Gulph, its remarkable rider slumped sideways and fell. Gulph caught her before she struck the ground. He lowered her gently down, dumbfounded by what he'd just experienced, what he'd just seen.

“I'm sorry,” she croaked. Her face was as pale as Nynus's, and her blond hair was caked with stone dust. Her voice sounded like pouring sand.

Gulph crouched over her. “Don't try to speak,” he said.

“I must. I don't have much time. I have to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Melchior—I couldn't find him. I'm sorry.”

The despair in Limmoni's eyes told Gulph how serious this was. What did it mean for him? What did it mean for his siblings, wherever they were? He stroked Limmoni's hair from her face, wishing desperately that he could help her.

“It's all right,” he said. “You're all right now.”

Her hand gripped his, momentarily strong but weakening fast. “No. I'm not. That leap . . . saving those people. It's broken me. My magic. I thought I was ready, but . . .”

Her eyes closed and her body folded, seemingly twice as heavy as it had been before. Panic-stricken, Gulph pressed his fingers to her throat. There was a pulse, but it was very faint.

A shadow fell across him.

“Fine work stopping her, Gulph,” said Nynus. He was cowering under a large parasol that his mother was holding over his head. “Although she doesn't look capable of running away.”

“Are you ready to hand over your prisoner?” said Dowager Queen Magritt, one arched eyebrow raised.

“Oh no,” said Nynus. “I don't think he needs to do that.”

Gulph stared blankly at him. Had Nynus come to his senses at last? It hardly seemed possible.

“I don't?” he said.

“No.” Nynus laughed. “I think I'll just kick her over the edge.”

Gulph grabbed Limmoni protectively. “You can't do that,” he said.

“He is the king,” said Magritt. “He can do whatever he chooses.” Beside her, Nynus grinned and tensed his legs. “But . . . I have a better idea.”

Nynus scowled. “You do? But she's a wizard. Don't you think we should punish her?”

“Of course, my dear. But wizards can be useful.”

Magritt gestured toward the two remaining fingers of rock, each pointing at the other from opposite sides of the chasm.

“The gap is wide, but not wide enough. I suggest we keep our wizard somewhere safe until she wakes. With her magic, the task of destroying the rest of the bridge will be an easy one.”

Beneath his parasol, Nynus giggled.

Gulph eyed first the queen, then her son. Any regard he'd had for them had long since vanished. Now he saw them for what they truly were: monsters.

“Somewhere safe?” Gulph said. “What do you mean?”

Magritt smiled down at him.

“Why, the Vault of Heaven, of course.”

  •  •  •  

Thick clouds hid the moon and stars, except for a tiny gap hovering directly above the city. No matter how the clouds moved, this gap remained. Through it, Gulph could clearly see the three prophecy stars. They seemed to beckon him.

Standing in the darkness, Gulph prepared to do something he'd never imagined he would attempt.

Break back into the Vault of Heaven.

He flexed his muscles, preparing to make the arduous climb up one of the Vault's stilt-like legs. He'd thought he was sure of this, but the risk was huge. If he was caught, Nynus would do more than plunge Gulph's hands into a brazier.

As Limmoni had been dragged away from the half-demolished bridge, Gulph had felt Magritt's gaze burning the back of his neck. And Nynus had been cool toward him for the rest of the day. In defending Limmoni, had he gone too far?

Then he thought of Limmoni lying cold and alone in the Black Cell.

His choice was clear.

She helped me. Now I've got to help her.

The climb was just as difficult as he'd imagined. The wooden stilt was slippery, and twisted as it ascended. Only Gulph's extraordinary flexibility allowed him to reach the few handholds there were. When he reached the top, he compressed his shoulders and hips to an unnatural degree and squeezed his agile body through a tiny crack in the prison wall.

I suppose being deformed isn't always a bad thing
, he thought.

Once inside, he paused, catching his breath. It was just as he remembered: dark, stinking, echoing with the wretched screams of the inmates. It sounded as if there were more prisoners here than before. No wonder: Lately Nynus had made a hobby of sentencing people to a stretch in the Vault for even the most minor crimes.

Where's Blist?

He hoped he was snoring somewhere, while the rest of the prison guards did his work for him.

Gulph crept through the gloomy passageways. Water dripped, a percussive sound to accompany the screams. At least Nynus had told him where Limmoni was to be imprisoned: the one cell that had remained empty since their escape. The little room where Nynus had spent ten years of his young life.

The Black Cell.

This way . . . around this corner . . . up these steps . . .

A torch flared. Horror coursed through Gulph as two legionnaires stepped into its light, their bronze armor glinting. He had been on the verge of running; now he stopped abruptly, his heels skidding on the greasy floor. The soldiers advanced, shoulder to shoulder, then parted.

A third figure came forward between them. Gulph saw flowing robes, a pair of gloved hands, a triumphant smile.

Magritt!

It was a trap!

His heart pounding, Gulph spun on his heels and ran . . . straight into the clutches of a third legionnaire waiting behind him. A gloved hand clamped around his throat, almost lifting him off the ground.

“No!” he gasped. “Let me go!” He beat at the man with his hands, tried to kick him, but to no avail.

“I knew you were a traitor,” said Magritt, circling him like a hawk. “I told Nynus, but he would not believe me, not without proof. So I decided to give him some.”

Gulph flailed in the legionnaire's grasp. “Where is she?” he croaked. “What have you done with her?”

“The Vault of Heaven is not the only secure place in Idilliam,” said Magritt. “Your wizard friend is safe in the castle. Locked up, of course. But safe.” She loomed over him, sneering in the torchlight. “But you, Gulph, are not so safe.”

“You don't scare me!”

“Be quiet! How dare you? How dare you betray our trust, you ugly, ungrateful brat! We picked you out of the gutter, raised you up to a position of high office, and this is how you reward us!”

“You didn't raise me up! You dragged me down!”

Magritt leaned close. “King killer,” she whispered.

To Gulph's dismay, his eyes filled instantly with tears. “You made me do it,” he choked. “I didn't know. You tricked me.”

Straightening up, Magritt snapped her fingers. The legionnaire kept his grip on Gulph's throat while the other fastened heavy chains around his arms and legs. By the time they'd finished, Gulph felt twice as heavy as he had been, and was almost completely unable to move.

“Let me see you wriggle out of that, you deformed monster,” said Magritt. She walked away into the darkness, her robes billowing behind her.

“You're the monster!” yelled Gulph, throwing the words after her. But she was already gone.

The legionnaires dragged Gulph like a side of beef to one of the big communal cells. Blist himself was there, a crooked smile on his sweating face.

“Ah, the frog boy returns!” He cackled.

Blist opened the cell door, using a barbed whip to keep back the jostling prisoners. Gulph was thrown inside. The chains clanked as he landed, driving their cold metal curves into his back. The door slammed shut, the key rattled in the lock, and the footsteps of the retreating men faded to nothing.

Gulph fought to breathe against the constricting pressure of the chains on his chest. One by one, the faces of the other prisoners appeared above him, staring down out of the darkness, just as the prophecy stars had done. But there was no light in their eyes, only hatred and despair.

Gulph found a corner and shrank into it. Now he knew how a sheep felt when the wolves closed in. He curled up and waited for it to be over.

W
hen he'd first flown over the village, Tarlan would have said Lord Vicerin's troops boasted only a few dozen men. Now, as he flew over it again, he saw the enemy attacking afresh and in the hundreds. It seemed an extraordinary show of force.

There's more to this than Lady Darrand said
, he thought.
Lord Vicerin wants to take over Ritherlee. What other explanation could there be?

Tarlan bunched his hands in Theeta's neck ruff and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Lord Vicerin's goal was not his concern. He and the thorrods were hired mercenaries, nothing more. As soon as they'd done their job, they would be on their way. These humans could sort out their own affairs.

“Low over the mill,” he said to Theeta, tugging her to the left.

His giant steed banked smoothly, the long feathers on her wings rippling silently in the changing airflow. Her head snapped back and forth, keen eyes tracking the soldiers on the ground as an eagle might follow its rodent prey.

The mill loomed. This was where the fighting was at its fiercest. In the shadow of the slowly turning waterwheel, villagers valiantly brandished farm tools against the Vicerin attackers. What they lacked in weaponry and training they made up for in vigor; all the same, their well-armed opponents were steadily pushing them back.

“Put the sun behind us,” said Tarlan.

Adjusting her trajectory, Theeta swooped down on the Vicerin squad. The soldiers looked up, their faces terrified. They raised their hands to their eyes, momentarily blinded. The thorrod screeched. Several of the soldiers screamed. Tarlan grinned.

Scary, isn't she?

Theeta plunged through the middle of the soldiers, her talons lifting men bodily into the air and tossing them aside, her beak opening and closing, opening and closing. A spray of blood blossomed, splashing Tarlan's cheek. Horrified, thrilled, he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Having cut a swath through the Vicerin troops, Theeta flew a tight circle around the mill, narrowly missing the waterwheel as she came in for a second attack.

“They're falling back!” said Tarlan, pleased to see not the weapons of the enemy but the backs of their uniforms. “Let's encourage them.”

As a line of villagers ran in to deal with the injured, Theeta chased the retreating Vicerin troops up the steep bank overlooking the mill. One soldier slipped and fell; Theeta speared him with a talon before he could get up.

The rest just ran faster.

Once he was sure this particular troop was no further threat, Tarlan steered Theeta back to the mill. The dead and wounded lay on the ground, their blue sashes turning red as the blood flowed out of their bodies.

As the thorrod flew overhead, the villagers raised a ragged cheer. Tarlan urged Theeta higher, keen to gain an overview of the battlefield. To his right, Kitheen had chased a second squad of soldiers into a tight gully that ended when it met a steep rock wall. Trapped, the men turned, only to find the huge thorrod slashing at them with his claws and beak. Tarlan pulled Theeta away. No form of prey could survive when Kitheen was in a killing frenzy.

A leisurely pass over the village reassured him that the fighting was all but over. Despite the overwhelming odds, the thorrods had turned the tide of the battle. More of Lady Darrand's own soldiers had now arrived, easily identifiable in their brown leather armor. Together they helped the villagers rout out any last pockets of resistance. The rest of Lord Vicerin's men were in full retreat.