The Missing Kin (2 page)

Wargrach had once been a general. If his plans
went well, he would be a general again. If his
plans went
very
well, he'd be much more than that.

It had been four weeks since Wargrach had fled the
disaster at Sleeto and gone straight to High Battilon, a
refuge he'd prepared for such a possibility by putting
a weakling in charge. This snivelling Clawed One
had been too scared to rebel in Wargrach's absence.
'Moralon the Coward' he was called behind his back,
too frightened to avenge the death of his brother.
Wargrach had always found terror to be a useful tool,
and it had proved so here.

Once Wargrach had settled at High Battilon, he'd
sent messages out to saur he knew would be willing
to join him. Of course, that meant deserting Queen
Tayesha's Army, but Wargrach knew such deserters
would be loyal to him. He would leave them no
choice.

The arrival of these outlaws left the saur of High
Battilon and in the neighbouring village of Lod in no
doubt that dark days had come.

While his followers rampaged, Wargrach had
grown tired of Moralon's gloomy presence and
thrown him into a dungeon. After that, he simply
announced that High Battilon had a new lord.

He limped down the stairs from the armoury to
the courtyard, and at the bottom he paused, wincing.
His joints ached and for a moment he thought
of stretching out on one of the beds in the great
bedchamber. He snorted and ignored the discomfort.
He pushed open the door and emerged into the thin
mountain sunshine, letting it warm his bones as he
watched some of his soldiers practise.

Half a dozen saur were lazily wielding their
swords. He scowled at their sloppy bladework. He
decided to thrash them, later. They'd be better off
for it.

Wargrach studied the walls of the castle. High
Battilon was not large, but it was well made, with a
number of deep wells. It had never been taken by siege
or by assault. It was a strong base for his plans.

Power. Wargrach curled his hands so his claws
cut into his palms. While he was general of all Queen
Tayesha's armies he had had power. When he failed
to bring back the fugitive Adalon of the Eastern
Peaks and then lost a battalion at Sleeto, his power
had vanished like smoke on a windy day.

He smiled his broken smile. Here, he would regain
some of it. It was a toehold, a beginning. Soon he
would be ready; soon he would be on his way to
regaining greatness and to restoring the heritage of
the saur.

He gnashed his teeth and ignored the many pains
of his scarred and battered body. The days of blood
and glory were coming; he could feel it.

Queen Tayesha stood proud and tall on the dais
overlooking the parade ground. Armour shone
brightly, great crests and plumes bobbed, marching
feet stepped in perfect unison, a thousand young
saur officers held weapons aloft and cheered as they
passed. She raised a claw in salute and the cheering
redoubled.

One of the generals at her side – a Plated One,
Tayesha could never remember his name – cleared
his throat. 'A brave display, Your Majesty. Eager and
ready to do your bidding, they are.'

She stifled a sigh. Empty words from an uninspiring
leader. She glanced at the other generals, who weren't
much better. Puffed up, ambitious, unimaginative
and suspicious. Wargrach was worth ten of them,
despite his failing at Sleeto. A
hundred
of them.

Tayesha took some pleasure in the parade of new
officers, who were followed by the ten new battalions
she had ordered to be commissioned. Rank on
rank of Plated Ones, Toothed Ones, Horned Ones,
Clawed Ones and more – all trained and outfitted
with the finest armour and weapons the forges of
Thraag could produce. These fine young saur were
the instruments of her destiny. Through their efforts,
all seven kingdoms of Krangor would be united.

She ignored the grumbles of the generals as they
stood with her in the hot sun for the fourth hour
on end. She could have released them, but she chose
not to. If they couldn't endure the discomfort of a
parade, how would they survive the rigours of a long
and dangerous campaign? She straightened and let
her soldiers see their queen.

***

Later that day, Tayesha was in the Needle, the tallest
tower of the Gralloch Palace, glad of the refuge her
study provided from the hurly-burly of the palace.

Tayesha sighed and wrote in her journal.
It pains
me to think that the saur in the other kingdoms do
not see the wisdom in submitting to Thraag. There
would be no need for armies at all if they willingly
joined us under my rule. A united Krangor – is that
too much to ask?

She put down the quill and sanded her writing.
She glanced at the official reply from the King of
Callibeen. It lay where she had thrown it on the floor.
She'd offered King Hulgor the opportunity to step
down and cede his throne to Thraag. His scornful
response had sent her Clawed One blood boiling.
Raging, she'd slashed it with her claws. To think that
that overweight, pompous, pitiful excuse for a Billed
One had dared to question her state of mind! She'd
never forgive King Hulgor or his people – never!

Closing her eyes, Tayesha tried to slow her racing
heart. After a moment or two, her hands were steady
enough to resume writing.

A united Krangor cannot be achieved simply
through force of arms. To bring the seven kingdoms
together will require mighty magic which, in turn,
will make an immortal ruler.

Tayesha frowned. Her plans had not been
proceeding smoothly on that front. The spells needed
to achieve her ends were complex and obscure, and
there was much she still had not discovered. She had
worked long and hard, putting together fragments
and shards of spells discovered in ancient texts, but
the full and complete ritual still eluded her. She put
down her quill and closed her journal.

Standing, Tayesha called the power of the
land to her. It had never been far away, ever since
her coronation day long ago. The land was her
foundation.

Immediately, a radiant globe of brilliant white
light flared on each of her claws. The globes merged,
until two tiny suns enveloped each hand.

Tayesha stared at the twin fires without blinking.
Slowly, she brought them together, intertwining her
claws. The two globes became a single ball of light
and she felt the power of the land in her bones.

This was the power that only the rulers of the
seven kingdoms knew. With it, Tayesha had the
strength, the endurance and the solidity of the land.
She could not be moved if she did not want to be.
She could delve into the land, finding the riches
beneath. She could open great chasms and make the
earth shudder – although she had to admit that such
displays of might had become more difficult as she
had aged.

She put a hand to her throat and felt the loose
skin there. The years were closing in. Her quest for
immortality was an urgent one.

She placed her hands together and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, she was in another place.

It was utterly black, a darkness profound and
deep. It did not trouble her, because her magically
enhanced eyes could see as clearly as if it were day.

She was in a chamber in the heart of the earth,
leagues beneath the surface. This ancient place,
a sanctuary and a place of meditation deep in the
embrace of the land, was only known to the rulers
of Thraag. Pillars grew out of the solid rock like
trees. Archways, shelves and tables looked as if they
had been formed in place rather than carved. It was
a private place – quiet, silent, cool. The smell of
mineral-rich moisture came from a large pool at the
far end and its gentle lapping was the only sound.

Confident in the absolute blackness, knowing
she was welcome in this most secret place, Tayesha
crossed to a granite table. On it was a collection of
books and writing materials. The books varied in
sizes, colours and ages, and Tayesha smiled sadly
as she remembered that it was Wargrach who had
brought some of the most useful volumes to her. Slips
of paper protruded from them, marking important
pages.

She picked up
The Land and the Saur
, a rare
volume from Bondorborar, and began reading.
She spent some time looking for a reference to the
connection between rulers and the ruled. Somewhere,
she remembered, it referred to a ceremony attempted
in the rule of Queen Silminac. She had perished, but
it was rumoured that she, too, had been striving for
immortality.

Tayesha put her head in her hands. Alone in
the darkness, her destiny was a heavy weight and
she wondered if she were strong enough to bear
it. If she couldn't solve the mystery of the ritual of
unification, Krangor was in peril, made unstable by
the events that she had unleashed. Her people would
lose everything and she would lose her chance at
immortality.

For a moment, she was on the verge of despair.

The blackness seemed to swirl about her. She stood,
shaking herself. 'No,' she said, and her voice echoed
in the vast, lightless chamber. 'I will not give up. For
my people, for all the saur, I must succeed.'

She picked up another volume, sat once more,
and began to read.

The room was compact, opening off one of the
great halls in the Lost Castle. A round table of
dark, fine-grained wood stood in the middle of it.
Diamond-paned windows gave a view of the river
and forest below, with the encircling mountains
in the distance. A simple fireplace, unlit in the mildness
of early autumn, took up one wall. Simangee had
dubbed the place the Room of Dreams for it was
here that the three friends did most of their
planning.

The table was strewn with maps that Simangee
had found in one of the three libraries in the castle.
Adalon had added many sheets of paper, with figures
and diagrams scratched on them. Quills and ink pots
nestled in the jumble.

Adalon stood in the corner of the room and eyed
the stranger at the table. 'You say she can be trusted?'
he muttered to Targesh.

Targesh shrugged. 'Trust the herd. Be wary of
others.'

The stranger frowned. 'If you don't trust me, then
let me go.'

She was a well-rounded Billed One. Her scales
shone and her flat beak was burnished. Her red tunic
was edged with purple piping and her leggings were
green. All her garments were of rich make and in good
repair. Adalon thought she looked like a courtier out
for a stroll in a palace garden. This notion made his
memory jangle, but he still couldn't put a claw on
when he'd seen her before. 'What is she doing here?'
he asked Targesh.

Targesh looked pained. He glanced at Simangee,
but she ignored him and gazed at the ceiling,
humming. 'I took a patrol outside the valley.'

'I thought we'd agreed to stay hidden. We are still
vulnerable.'

'In some ways, that's true, Adalon who was once
of the Eastern Peaks,' the stranger said. She clicked
her claws together. 'But since Wargrach told everyone
you were killed in one of Graaldon's eruptions,
no-one is actually
looking
for you.'

'Who
are
you?' Adalon snapped.

She stood and bowed. 'Varriah, at your service.'

Simangee hummed a little. 'Don't you remember
her? She was a house steward in Queen Tayesha's
palace.'

'Ah,' Adalon said. 'Now I remember.'

Adalon was taken back two years, to a much
happier time. Simangee, Targesh and he had gone to
Challish for the spring festival. They'd been pleased
to leave the wild weather of the Eastern Peaks, where
winter lingered for months after the lower-lying
provinces of Thraag had seen thaw and budburst.
Adalon's father had been unable to go because he
was planning irrigation works on the estate, so he'd
entrusted the young people to Adalon's Great-Uncle
Baradon. The old saur loved nothing better than
a trip to the capital and kept the party entertained
on the journey with his tales of the best eateries in
the city.

As heir to the Eastern Peaks, one of the provinces
of Thraag, custom demanded that Adalon present
himself at the palace, along with his friends and
great-uncle. It was Varriah who was given the job
of guiding them through the maze of protocol and
etiquette. She'd performed this task with jaunty
good humour.

'Varriah,' Adalon said warily. What was one of
Queen Tayesha's household doing here? She didn't
look like a spy, but Adalon was well aware of how
fragile their safety was. 'You're a long way from
Gralloch Palace.'

She grimaced. 'I know. And I haven't seen hot
water for days.' She frowned at her claws. 'I'd
forgotten how
smelly
those riding beasts are. Can't
something be done about that?'

'She was running away,' Targesh said.

'Not running away,' Varriah said, looking pained.
'I was looking for a better position.'

'In the wilderness?' Adalon asked.

'Well, yes, of course . . .' She looked around.
'This is a splendid place you have here. However did
you find it?'

Targesh harrumphed. 'I was talking to Bolggo,'
he said to Adalon. 'He said some of the village
younglings had gone exploring. I found them near
the fire gate.' He looked uncomfortable. 'I thought it
could be useful to do some scouting outside.'

The fire gate was the only way in or out of the
Hidden Valley. The tunnel wound through the flank
of Graaldon, the smoking mountain, to the ashy,
barren wasteland outside. Regularly, the tunnel
filled with molten rock, which poured out onto the
volcano's feet, making it a perilous path.

'We'd spoken of patrols,' Adalon said to Targesh.
'I was going to organise them . . .'

'You've been busy,' Targesh said. 'The younglings
were eager.'

'Of course.' Adalon paced back and forth, his
hands behind his back. He had so much to do, so
many plans, so much preparation to undertake. He
felt buried in decisions and choices.

'You can't do everything yourself,' Simangee said
to him. 'We are part of this too.'

Adalon stopped pacing and grinned. 'Reading
minds again?'

'It's a matter of knowing you too well, Adalon.'

Targesh rumbled in his chest. 'This one has news.

Best to listen.'

Rebuked, Adalon sat at the table and faced
Varriah. Targesh joined them. 'Tell 'em,' he said to
the Billed One.

Varriah studied her claws again. 'Well, I decided
that the climate of Challish didn't suit me at all –'

'You said the Queen wants to invade Callibeen
by the end of the month,' Targesh interrupted.

Varriah narrowed her eyes, but nodded. 'All
Thraag is mobilised for war. The Army has been
swelled by volunteers inspired by the Queen. She's
been giving speeches, promising glory and a golden
future for everyone.' Her face went hard, and for
a moment Adalon saw the steel beneath the soft
exterior. 'The generals are saying that everyone
who's not
for
them is
against
them.'

'Varriah is from Callibeen,' Targesh added.

Adalon jerked his gaze to the Plated One. His
suspicions evaporated.

'No-one in the palace knows, of course.' She
paused. 'My family still lives in Silp, the capital.'

'Ah. You were going to warn them,' Simangee
said.

'Of course. The Way of the Bill: Family is who
we are.'

Adalon nodded. He understood the importance
of family.

'What can we do to help?' Targesh said.

Adalon saw the keen interest in Varriah's eyes.
'We can't fight an army,' he said. 'I'd hoped we'd
be able to build up our strength, recruit like-minded
saur and then embark on a campaign of harassment
and raiding. We could wear them down, make them
afraid.' He tapped his claws on the tabletop.

Varriah looked troubled. 'There's more news.
I fear you will not take it well.'

Adalon stared. 'How can it be worse than that
you have already told us?'

'High Battilon. Your ancestral home in the Eastern
Peaks. It's rumoured that Wargrach has assumed
lordship of it.'

Adalon clenched his fists. He felt the claws bite
into his palms until they drew blood. 'What of my
uncle? Moralon was the new lord after Wargrach
killed my father.'

Varriah shrugged. 'Imprisoned? Killed? Who
knows? Cutthroats and rogues from all over the
seven kingdoms are flocking to High Battilon, willing
to serve Wargrach.'

For an instant, Adalon felt as if the whole world
were whirling, spinning so fast that everything
could fall apart. His tail twitched. He wanted to
leap to his feet, to run, to slash . . . Then he drew
breath, remembering the Way of the Claw.
Pause.
Think. Pause again
.

'We have too many enemies for our paltry
strength,' he said.

'We need help,' Targesh said. 'Allies.'

'Who would help us against Thraag?' Simangee
said. 'All the other kingdoms are content, or cautious,
or afraid. By the time they realise what Tayesha has
planned it will be too late.'

Adalon stretched his neck and stifled a yawn. He
was tired. 'We must do something.'

'No allies in the seven kingdoms,' Targesh said.
'Where else, then?'

Simangee spluttered. 'Krangor
is
the seven
kingdoms!'

Then she stopped, a claw in the air.

Adalon knew the expression on his friend's face.
'What is it?'

'Allies. Outside the seven kingdoms. Something I
read.' A few soft notes burbled from her crest as she
thought. 'Saur who want to be restored to Krangor.
A legend.'

'A legend,' Targesh repeated. He swept an arm
in a wide, encompassing gesture. 'We're living in a
legend. Nothing wrong with legends.'

Adalon had to agree. Whether they liked it or
not, they were caught in a tale of great events. But
how was this story going to end?