Crown of Three (28 page)

Theeta arrived first, beating her huge wings hard to maintain a steady hover just below the window. She looked up at Tarlan, her black eyes wide and glistening, soft cooing sounds spilling from her hooked beak. Behind her, Nasheen and Kitheen turned circles in silent and obvious joy. To Tarlan's relief, Nasheen seemed to have recovered from her injury. In fact, he'd never seen the three birds so energized.

And he'd never been so pleased to see them.

Without thinking about what he was doing—and without even a glance back at the luxurious room where his sister had once slept, and that had been his prison cell—Tarlan climbed up onto the window ledge and jumped down onto Theeta's back.

The yielding warmth of her feathers was a thousand times better than the expensive pillows he'd just been sleeping on.

“We go!” Theeta cried. “We go!”

“Yes,” said Tarlan, stroking the back of her neck. “Yes, but . . . there's something I have to do first.”

  •  •  •  

The kitchen garden was empty, the gardeners long since retired for the night. A single guard lay slumped and snoring outside the door to the dungeon, an empty bottle by his side. Beside him lay three enormous dogs.

The three thorrods landed without making a sound. Tarlan slipped from Theeta's back and told them in a hushed voice to wait for him.

“Be ready,” he said. “We may have to leave in a hurry.”

He tiptoed toward the door. As he approached, each of the three guard dogs raised its head in turn. They watched Tarlan for a moment, then stood with their hackles raised, growling menacingly.

“Please,” Tarlan whispered. “I'm not doing any harm. Let me past.”

The dogs looked confused. Their snarls turned to something resembling language, but it was crude and hard to understand. Walking slowly toward them, Tarlan kept up a stream of soothing words, wondering if living with humans robbed animals of their natural ability to communicate.

To his relief, the dogs backed away, allowing him to lift the keys from the guard's belt and unlock the door. Taking a burning torch from a wall sconce, he made his way to the cells. Behind the bars, the children slept in silence. But they were not the reason he'd come.

He went straight to the wolf. The poor, starving creature was awake and alert, watching his every move.

“I hear you,” the wolf said in a growling, guttural tongue, as Tarlan fumbled through the keys on the ring, searching for one that might open the padlock securing the animal's chain. “I am Graythorn.”

“I'm Tarlan.” He tried a likely-looking key and grinned when the lock snapped open. “And you, my friend, are free.”

The wolf stood on shaking legs and stretched. A shudder passed down his body. “Free to help you?” he said.

“I was hoping you were going to say that.”

Satisfied, Tarlan made his way back to the exit. Graythorn limped after him. At the end of the passage, he stopped, remembering what Sylva had said:

Nobody should be kept against their will.

Returning to the cells, he looked again at the sleeping children. They were prisoners, just as he had been. Just as Graythorn had been. They too deserved their freedom.

“Sorelle!” he called, making his way between the cells. “Sorelle Darrand!”

A small face rose into the light of the torch: a girl, rubbing her eyes in sleepy surprise.

“That's me,” she said. Her voice trembled with fear.

“It's all right,” said Tarlan. “I'm going to get you out.”

One by one, he unlocked the cells. By the time he'd finished, all the children were awake. They clustered around him, blinking and confused.

Tarlan made a quick head count. There were twelve of them. He cursed himself for not thinking this through. Twelve was surely too many.

“What's happening?” said a young girl. Wide eyes stared at Tarlan from a dirt-smudged face. “Who're you?”

“I'm scared of the dog,” said a small boy.

“He's not a dog,” Tarlan whispered. “He's a wolf. And he's a friend.
I'm
a friend, and I'm going to get you out of here. But you have to be quiet. Now, do you know how to tiptoe?”

The children nodded mutely.

“All right. Now follow me. And not a sound.”

The minute the words left his mouth, the dungeon filled up with a dreadful screeching. Several of the children clapped their hands over their ears; others started to cry. The stiff hairs on the back of Graythorn's neck stood up in a trembling ruff, and the wolf started to growl.

“Theeta!” said Tarlan.

“Who is Theeta?” said Graythorn.

“You'll see!”

Abandoning all thought of secrecy, Tarlan plunged into the exit passage. “Graythorn!” he roared over his shoulder. “Round them up!”

Like a sheepdog, the wolf herded the children into a tight group, urging them along in pursuit of Tarlan. As they raced down the passage, the other thorrods added their cries to those of Theeta. The noise was shattering and immense. Tarlan knew that he alone could hear the words of warning within it, and could only imagine how terrifying it must sound to the children.

A dark shape blocked the exit: the guard, standing dazed and confused, his sword half-drawn.

“Who goes—?” he began.

Tarlan barreled into the man, sending him flying across the nearest vegetable patch. As he landed, the guard's helmet slipped aside and his head banged hard on the stone flags of the pathway. His face went instantly slack.

The three guard dogs gathered around the unconscious man, tongues lolling and tails wagging. Tarlan thought they looked immensely stupid.

In the windows overlooking the enclosed kitchen garden, torches were flaring into life. Shocked faces peered down, wondering at the commotion. Ignoring them, Tarlan slowed down, allowing the children to catch up.

“Come on!” he shouted. “Hurry!”

The thorrods were waiting for them in the middle of the garden. The three giant birds were hopping anxiously on their clawed feet, screeching out their concern.

“It's all right,” said Tarlan when he reached Theeta. He stroked her beak. “We're here.”

“I don't like the birds!” wailed a small voice.

Turning, Tarlan saw the children bunched several paces away. Graythorn prowled behind them, panting, his eyes fixed on Tarlan's.

“There's nothing to be afraid of. This is my pack—friends, understand?”

“Scary birds!”

“Yes, they are,” said Tarlan with a grim smile. He picked out Lady Darrand's daughter from the huddle. “Sorelle—are you brave enough to be the first?”

Just as he'd hoped she would, the little girl stepped forward defiantly, her young eyes alight with the same warrior spirit possessed by her mother.

“I'm not afraid!” she piped.

“Good girl!”

Tarlan hoisted her onto Theeta's back, showing her how to bunch her hands into the thorrod's neck feathers. At once, Theeta stopped screaming and twisted her head to brush the smooth upper surface of her beak against Sorelle's arm. The little girl giggled.

“See?” said Tarlan. “Who's next?”

Within moments, he'd lifted all the children onto the thorrods' backs: two for Theeta, five each for Nasheen and Kitheen.

“Graythorn,” he said to his new friend. “Your turn.” But the wolf was ignoring him, his green eyes fixed on the garden gate. “Graythorn—come on!”

Now the wolf was growling. Stepping away from Theeta, Tarlan saw Lord Vicerin racing toward them from the outer yard. His long purple robes flowed behind him like a stream of ink in the night. His face was set with fury, and his sword was drawn.

Behind him ran an entire squad of castle guards.

“Stop this madness!” Vicerin shouted as he plunged into the garden. “Turn back now, and you'll be forgiven!”

“I've done nothing wrong!” Tarlan snapped back. “Unlike you! And you'll pay for it, Vicerin. You'll pay!”

Moving with surprising speed, Vicerin lunged at Tarlan, sword raised. “I'll
make
you come to heel!”

Tarlan stepped back, but tripped on the edge of the path. He staggered, off balance.

Graythorn's gray body flew through the moonlight, fur flashing momentarily silver. His jaws closed on Vicerin's arm, stopping it dead. The wolf's momentum carried both him and Vicerin to the ground.

Recovering himself, Tarlan sprang onto Theeta's back.

“Graythorn!” he yelled. “Come on!”

The wolf was standing over the screaming Vicerin, shaking his head back and forth, his teeth locked in the lord's forearm. Reluctantly he relaxed his hold and stepped back.

“But he has such a soft throat,” the wolf said sadly.

“There's no time! Come, Graythorn! Now!”

The wolf jumped onto the waiting thorrod's back, leaving the bleeding Vicerin whimpering on the ground. Tarlan threw one arm around Graythorn and the other around the two children.

“Theeta! Nasheen! Kitheen!” he roared. “We fly!”

As one, the three mighty birds opened their wings and beat them against the air. At the same moment, the guards burst into the garden, only to fall back coughing and spluttering as the air whipped up by the thorrods' departure raised a whirlwind of dust and dirt.

Within two breaths they were above the castle wall, and still climbing. Tarlan peered down past Theeta's head to see Lord Vicerin clambering to his feet, clutching his injured arm.

“You're nothing!” The lord's voice rose up, faint but distinct. “Without the jewel—you're nothing at all!”

“I don't need jewels,” Tarlan shouted back defiantly. “I don't need anything but my pack!”

Theeta turned, and her great golden wing eclipsed Vicerin and the garden. Soon the entire castle was just a dark red speck in the moonlit landscape.

The rush of excitement slowly ebbed away. So did Tarlan's defiance. The farther they flew from the castle, the more he felt empty inside. He told himself that losing Mirith's jewel didn't matter compared to his freedom.

It's just a bit of stone
, he told himself. Mirith had given him many more important gifts—she'd plucked him from the snows and saved his life, had shown him how to talk with the thorrods.

But it did matter. Somehow he felt that he had left a part of himself behind.

By the time they reached the village, dawn was painting the sky pale crimson. Tarlan directed the thorrods to circle in from the east. From the ground, their massive silhouettes would look spectacular against the sunrise.

“I think we've earned ourselves a grand entrance,” he said to Theeta, stroking her neck.

Lookouts stationed at the village perimeter quickly raised the alarm. Despite the early hour, the villagers poured out of their houses, weapons at the ready. Barely half of the buildings had survived intact, and the looks on their faces told Tarlan they would do anything to protect the rest.

When they saw it was the thorrods approaching, they dropped their pitchforks and scythes and raised a ragged cheer. The thorrods circled once before coming lightly to earth in the middle of the central square.

As Tarlan hopped down from Theeta's back, Lady Darrand pushed her way through to the front of the joyous crowd. The instant she saw Sorelle, her stern warrior's face crumpled and she burst into tears.

Tarlan's chest swelled with pride as mother and daughter were reunited. Shouts of delight rang out as one child after another jumped down from their thorrod steeds and ran sobbing into their parents' arms.

Carrying a beaming Sorelle in the crook of her arm, Lady Darrand strode up to Tarlan and kissed him firmly on the cheek.

“My soldiers saw them leave with you,” she said, “but could not help. I'm sorry. And now you have brought me the greatest gift.” Even in joy, her voice was fierce. “You are a wonder, thorrod rider.”

Something pushed past her legs: a small animal with blue-and-white-striped fur. Tarlan dropped to his knees and held out his arms.

“Filos! Come to me!” The little tigron bounded into his arms, purring madly. “Are you all right? How are you feeling?”

“Better now you are here,” Filos replied in her tigron tongue, rubbing her head against his chest. “I belong with you.”

“Your friend is as pleased to see you as I am,” said Lady Darrand, smiling down at them. “Tarlan—I thank you with all my heart for what you have done. I owe you more than anyone can repay. If ever a time comes when I can honor my debt, call on me.”

“I will,” said Tarlan.

Her gratitude—and Filos's loyalty—warmed his heart, even as the rising sun warmed the back of his neck. Yet as he smiled back at Lady Darrand, a small voice in the back of his mind warned him not to get attached to these humans. He'd simply done them a useful service and his involvement with their affairs was over.

Now it was time to leave.