Sagaria (71 page)

Eventually, the companions came to a place where the tunnel abruptly debouched into a large, echoing chamber. Even the light of Xaraxeer wasn’t sufficient to brighten the interior of this vast bubble in the rock. As far as Sagandran could tell, while Sir Tombin swung the weapon around in the hope of seeing as much as possible, it was roughly egg-shaped. The ceiling was a dome above them. Little streams of poisonous-looking water ran down the walls here and there.

But, after a moment, none of the companions had any attention to spare for the walls or ceiling. Jumbled in a heap in the middle of the chamber’s floor were a dozen or more long black boxes. Glancing at them, Sagandran knew instinctively what they were. He suspected that all of his friends had the same sudden, unsettling knowledge.

“Wh-what are those?” said Flip in a shaky voice, as if they wouldn’t be coffins
until someone had confirmed it for him.

Samzing chuckled. “They’re boxes with dead people in them, Flip. Think of it this way. It’s better that the dead people are all safe and secure, snug in their boxes, than if they were still lurking around spectrally somewhere, ready to reach out their ectoplasmic fingers and grab you just as you’re—”

“Samzing,” said Sir Tombin.

“Yes, dear fellow?”

“I’d shut up if I were you.”

“I was just explaining to—”

“
Samzing
!”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to be in one of those boxes?”

“Er, no, not especially, Quackie.”

“Then do as I say.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Oh.”

While this exchange (which had all the familiarity of long practice between the two) was still continuing, Sagandran slipped forward and reached out to touch the nearest of the coffins. He started when another hand joined his on the polished dark wood. Perima’s hand. Looking sideways, he first saw her grin and only then, the rest of her face. It made him grin too.

“You see?” she said quietly. “Samzing’s right. They’re just boxes with dead people in them. Nothing to be afraid of at all.”

Cheireanna joined them. She seemed intent on opening up one of the boxes to take a look inside. They dissuaded her as well as they could, using nothing but hand waving and facial expressions.

“We must be in some kind of mausoleum,” the Frogly Knight was saying to the cavern at large. “I’d be grateful if you forbore from touching anything. Whoever these people once were, they are no longer with us. As a matter of respect, we should not disturb their long slumber.”

Ever the courteous one, Sir Tombin,
thought Sagandran resignedly
. The dead are dead. The bodies they leave behind them are nothing more than that – bodies. Just the packaging, he added to himself, remembering what Perima had been talking about earlier
.

Flip, having conquered his terrors, seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Sagandran. While Sir Tombin and the wizard had been conversing, he’d scampered ahead to the far end of the great chamber. Now he came trotting back, his hard-clawed paws clicking on the rocky floor.

“The tunnel continues over there,” he said excitedly. “Only, it continues twice.”

“Twice?” said Sir Tombin. “What do you mean by that?”

“He means there are two exits,” drawled Samzing, “and what he’s about to ask you is: which one should we take?”

“I am not,” said Flip crossly.

“Well, what were you going to say?”

“Not that.”

The silence lengthened until Flip turned to Sir Tombin. “I say, Sir Tombin, how do we tell which of the two tunnels we should go down?”

Samzing cut short a snort of laughter.

“I don’t know,” the Frogly Knight replied, ignoring the wizard. “I’d better go and investigate. See what I can see, if you understand my meaning. You people wait here, if you’d be so good.” He dropped the saddle bag and flexed his shoulder, clearly pleased to be relieved of the burden.

As Sir Tombin moved slowly away, Xaraxeer held aloft, the rest of the companions settled themselves disconsolately in the gloom next to the piled coffins.

“I know this is silly,” confessed Perima after a while, “and I know they’re just dead people, but I’m not sure I want to stay in this place any longer.”

Sagandran felt it too: a chill creeping up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold, clammy air down here under the mountain. It was something like the horrible sensation he and Perima had experienced when coming through the apparently deserted town last night, but it was many times stronger. He could swear that if he turned his head suddenly, he’d see someone, or something, staring at him. Maliciously.

“I don’t suppose,” he said slowly, trying to sound as if this was just a philosophical question he was asking, or a matter of debate that would help pass the time until Sir Tombin returned. “I don’t suppose it’s at all possible, is it, that the people inside those coffins aren’t actually, well, altogether and completely … er … dead?”

Samzing replied. “Only one way to find out, eh?” he said cheerfully.

There was a scraping noise.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?” hissed Perima. She squeezed Sagandran’s arm so hard he wondered if he would have bruises.

“Why, just taking a look,” said the wizard blithely. “It’s hard to tell what’s in here, though,” he added, sliding one of the coffin lids aside and peering through the darkness into the gap he’d opened. “I wish old Quackie would come back with that ruddy great sword of—oh!”

Samzing leapt backward in a windmill of skinny limbs and flapping embroidery, then tripped over Sir Tombin’s discarded saddle bag and went flying. The lid he’d moved was thrown off its coffin onto the floor. The other coffins were shifting ponderously in some slow, seemingly well-choreographed dance. It took Sagandran a second or two to realize  that they were repositioning themselves so that each could open – all except one at the center which was much bigger than the others and far too long and broad and deep for any human corpse to reside therein.

Sagandran, staggering from the shock, almost fell. All that kept him upright was that Perima had seized him tightly, locking her arms like bands of steel around his chest. After an infinitesimal pause, Cheireanna threw her arms around his neck. He knew he should feel flattered that both girls regarded him as their pillar of strength, but right now he had to concentrate on his all-consuming terror.

Something climbed out of the sarcophagus Samzing had disturbed.

Something tall and bulky that smelled strongly of cobwebs and of dust and of infinite time.

And of death.

Samzing, collapsed on the floor in fear, raised his arm to ward off the gaze of this fell being. A heavy iron chain hung around its neck, and from the center of the chain a large lozenge-shaped jewel was suspended that glowed darkly with a blood-red light.

Another coffin lid was tipped off to land on the floor with a crash.

Then another. Then two more.

From each coffin rose an apparition like the one that stood menacingly over the fallen wizard. They were thickly wrapped in bandages blackened by either design or time, but even in the dim light from the glowing red gem Sagandran could make out the vague human forms beneath the cloth. They seemed taller than most men, and wider across the shoulders. Their faces were as covered as the rest of them, but even so he could feel their icy glare.

From the far end of the chamber came a cry. Sir Tombin had realized what was going on.

“Who are you?” intoned the first of the beings. Each of the three words seemed to last longer than it should and hung in the air for too many moments after it had been spoken.

“Merely travelers,” whined Samzing. “We’re of good heart and wish no ill.”

The being ignored his response. “Who are you,” it repeated, “to disturb the centuries-old rest of King Brygantra?”

Brygantra
? thought Sagandran desperately. Cheireanna’s arm was strangling
him. Using both hands, he prized it loose. I’ve heard that name before, but where?

This time the wizard had no response. He just whimpered.

Sagandran’s heart sank.
Samzing must know something we don’t. He  must know this is far worse than we think it is
.

“Do you not know the statutory penalty for this intrusion?” boomed the spectral creature.

Perima’s arms dropped from around Sagandran. At first he thought she must have fainted, but then she was stepping in front of him, facing the assembled apparitions. They regarded her in silence.

“The great King Brygantra?” she challenged. “I don’t believe you. Brygantra was known for his wisdom and justice. He didn’t go meting out arbitrary penalties for such trifles as this … accident.”

“Accident?” said the leading specter, who seemed taken aback by her effrontery.

“Yes, accident. How were we to know you and your people were in those boxes? It could have been anyone. Or the coffins could have been empty, for all we knew.”

“Yes, but—”

You can tell she’s a royal princess
, thought Sagandran.

“So,” continued Perima as if nothing would stop her (
and probably nothing could,
Sagandran added to himself), “now that we’ve established you’re not Brygantra, would you mind telling us who in the blazes you actually are?”

The being stared at her incredulously, then turned to consult with its fellows. Their murmured conversation sounded like dry dead leaves blowing across stone. Finally it faced Perima again.

“Perhaps,” it essayed, “I failed to explain myself adequately.”

“Too right, buster.” Hands on her waist, she tapped one foot imperiously.

In the distance, there was the sound of a suit of armor hitting rock. Very hard.
Sir Tombin’s tripped over something,
Sagandran realized
. Just like Samzing did
.

“I really am King Brygantra,” the swathed being was saying, half-apologetically. “And these are my royal guards, come with me into the bourn of Death.”

Sagandran’s memory returned in a rush. Queen Mirabella. Her palace in Spectram. She had been giving Xaraxeer to Sir Tombin and she had been telling him of the majestic weapon’s history. It had belonged to a king called Brygantra, and there was more. Brygantra had been the one who’d slain the worg, Boss Thumbhammer, centuries ago – or so Sir Tombin had told them back in the forest clearing where the deed had been done.

“Xaraxeer!” exclaimed Sagandran involuntarily.

The great head turned slowly. “Who are you that dares to speak the name of my sword?”

“His name’s Sagandran,” snapped Perima before Sagandran had the chance to respond. “Stop changing the subject, will you?”

“Excuse me, miss—” began the specter once more.

“I am not,” said Perima, this time stamping her foot for emphasis, “a ‘miss.’ Kindly accord me the respect my rank commands.”

“Well, who are you, then?”

“I am the Princess Perima, a Princess of the Blood Royal of Mattani.”

She’s turned the tables right round
, thought Sagandran in admiration. Now it’s Brygantra who’s supposed to tremble before Perima’s regal hauteur.

His optimism was short-lived.

“Mattani?” said one of the specters behind Brygantra. “Where’s that? Anyone know?”

From the shaking of heads and the occasional mutter of “Search me,” it was obvious none of the guards had ever heard of King Fungfari’s little monarchy.

Brygantra held up a swathed hand and the guards abruptly fell silent. “I have been to Mattani. A miserable place, as I recall it. What was it they used to call the kingdom? Ah, yes, now I remember. It had the nickname of—”

“The armpit of the world,” stated Perima before Brygantra could finish his sentence. “It may not have quite the grandeur of some of the other realms of Sagaria, but in its own way Mattani is—”

“You need not defend your kingdom to me, Princess Perima,” said King Brygantra, raising his arm once again, and Sagandran was almost certain he heard a parched chuckle from behind the bandages. “I have your name right, do I?”

Perima nodded imperiously.

“Good,” Brygantra went on. “No matter how humble your domain might be, and even if it were no more than the poorest hearth in all the three worlds, there can be no disputing the fact that you are rightfully a princess.”

Half-nodding her head slowly, Perima looked as if she didn’t know whether to be insulted or complimented by this.

“Royalty isn’t a matter of blood or dominion,” continued the king steadfastly, “or even a matter of who you are. True royalty is what you
make
of who you are. Plenty of people could have displayed courage before me. For a mere slip of a youth like you to do so showed a genuine royalty of spirit. So, whoever you might be, I am pleased to call you princess.”

“Mere slip of a girl, hm?”

“It was intended with respect, Princess.”

“It better have been.”

Sagandran, watching and listening to all this, realized his own heart was no longer trying to force its way up his throat. His eyes had begun to focus on the ruby (if it was indeed a ruby and not some other gem) suspended from the chain around King Brygantra’s neck. Although its blood-red coloration was completely unlike that of the Rainbow Crystal, warm against his chest, there was a certain morphological similarity between the two. Could it be that—

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Sir Tombin.

The Frogly Knight was limping slightly, but he showed no trace that he was conscious of any disability. He waved his sword antagonistically at Brygantra.

“What ho, there! Unhand that girl. If you’ve molested her in any way you shall have the wrath of Sir Tombin Quackford to face.”

“Hold your peace,” said the king tranquilly.

“Ha! Prepare to—”

“He’s dead already, Sir Tombin,” interposed Perima.

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that, girl? But there’s no reason to believe he cannot be slain again. See how he likes finding his four limbs in different parts of this room from his head, shall we?”

Sir Tombin spun Xaraxeer with an adroit flick of his wrist, and suddenly the tip of its golden blade was against the king’s throat. From behind King Brygantra there were the sounds of his guards preparing to move in to attack.