The Missing Kin (4 page)

Three days after leaving the Lost Castle, Adalon
had had his fill of riding.

Simangee, Targesh and he stretched out around
a campfire in the thick woods on the south bank of
the Dondor River, the border between Chulnagh and
Shuff. Adalon ached all over and it felt good to have
the armour off. He had sharp twinges in his thighs
and the base of his tail. He grimaced as he lay back and
watched sparks whirl up past the mountain beeches.
'How far is it, Simangee?'

She sighed. 'About the same as when you asked me
last time. Two more days, maybe three.' Simangee had
volunteered to navigate and had brought a number of
maps she'd found in the Lost Castle. She spent much
of her rest time in poring over the ancient charts.

Given the speed of the mighty brass riding beasts,
they'd chosen to risk crossing the Skyhorn Ranges
through the Sleeto Pass. Adalon knew Queen Tayesha
could have scouts in the area, but rounding the
ranges at the north or south would add weeks to their
journey.

Through good fortune, they encountered no-one
as they thundered through the mountains. Adalon
was sombre, though, as they rode past the burned-out
ruins of the village of Sleeto. It had been a happy
place, and now it was a reminder of what could
happen when war touched the innocent.

The next morning, Adalon groaned while he
strapped on his armour. Wincing, he climbed onto
his riding beast. He stifled a yelp as the saddle
connected with his bruised tail.
The stories never tell
of this sort of thing
, he thought.
Great deeds and
high honour, yet never a mention of chafed thighs
.
He gritted his teeth, but shuddered when it started
to rain.

They found a ford and crossed the Dondor River.
Soon after, they came across a small stream, one that
did not appear on Simangee's map. It took them
roughly north-east, so they were happy to move
along its meandering banks. Adalon was uneasy,
however. At first he blamed it on the rain, which was
sending cold trickles down his neck, but soon he
realised that they were following a path. He slowed
and leaned from the saddle. It was more than a trail
made by wildlife – this was a well-trodden way.

He reined in his steed. Targesh and Simangee
came alongside. 'Trouble?' Targesh asked.

Adalon gestured at the path. Simangee dismounted
and looked closely at it. 'Wheel marks.'

That was enough for Adalon. 'We don't want to
meet anyone. Let's look for a place to cross.'

They pressed on, but the stream and the path
began to curve southwards. The stream became a
rough and roaring cataract while the path turned
into a narrow, rocky ledge cut into the side of a cliff.
Spray bathed them and their progress slowed.

'Turn back?' Targesh shouted.

Adalon shook his head. The stream took a sharp
bend not far ahead and the path disappeared around
a jutting spur of rock. Perhaps the way would be
clear on the other side.

Adalon eased his steed around the spur, wiping
spray from his face. Ahead, the stream broadened,
opening out into a lake surrounded by hills. He
pulled up short.

'Careful!' Simangee called. 'Move along! I can't
get around!'

Adalon urged his mount forward and the rocky
path soon gave way to damp earth, then wound
through grass and reeds. He shook rain from his eyes,
then stared, pulling up his riding beast. Simangee
let out a snort of impatience. 'What is it now?'

'Is this on your map?' Adalon pointed. Through
the misty rain, large dark shapes hulked in the water.
At first, Adalon thought they were small islands, but
then he realised they were too uniformly spaced and
too similar in shape.

Wind sprang up, driving away the stubborn rain.
Feebly, the sun emerged and the large basin of the lake
was revealed, an expanse of dark, uninviting water
surrounded by rounded hills that glowered over the
scene like unfriendly neighbours. The outcrops that
jutted from the lake were evenly scattered, some
only a stone's throw from the water's edge. They had
once been substantial, impressive, but most were
now tumbled piles of stone, glistening dully in the
watery sunlight. 'Ruins,' Adalon said.

Targesh sniffed the air. 'Someone lives here.'

Adalon smelled it too and then he made out
the numerous, thin plumes of smoke rising from the
collapsed buildings. He wondered who'd be living
in a drowned city like this.

Simangee edged her riding beast closer to the
water's edge. 'I can see saur out there.'

A trickle of water ran down Adalon's neck and
he shivered. He wondered how hospitable these saur
could be, living in such a bleak place. He took off his
helmet and scratched his chin.

Targesh stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes.
He growled. 'Horned Ones.'

'What?' Adalon stared at the ruins. Horned Ones
were notoriously suspicious of water, much preferring
to keep to dry land. Targesh was not a swimmer, and
Adalon had never been able to coax him into a boat,
not even one of the old rowing boats he and Simangee
played around with whenever they visited Sleeto.

'Let's break our journey here for a while,'
Simangee urged. 'Horned Ones look after travellers,
don't they, Targesh?'

Targesh nodded, slowly. 'The Way of the Horn
says to bring strangers into the herd when in need,'
he said, but he frowned, uncertain.

'Then let us help them achieve their duty,' Simangee
declared. She waved her arms in the direction of the
lake. 'We're willing to be your guests, Horned Ones!'

Adalon saw that the ruins were already springing
to life. Horned Ones were appearing in gaps in the
stonework, hurrying down what once had been stairs,
and bustling toward a flotilla of canoes. Soon, the water
was thick with them, the brawny arms of the Horned
Ones driving the narrow boats toward the shore.

'You're certain they'll be welcoming?' Simangee
asked Targesh.

'They are Horned Ones,' Targesh said firmly.
'They must be hospitable.'

Adalon eyed the approaching canoes. Here, in
the middle of the wilderness, he found it natural
to be suspicious, but if Targesh was convinced . . .
'Stay mounted, all the same,' he said to his friends.
'If they're startled by our appearance, we can move
off and leave them.'

The leading canoe reached the shore. Without
hesitating, a dozen Horned Ones dropped into the
thigh-deep water and waded to where the three
friends waited for them. Adalon saw how Targesh
watched this with a mixture of fascination and
nervousness.

By the time the leader of the Horned Ones had
stumped close, two score or more canoes had drawn
up alongside the first. Soon, the friends were faced
by more than a hundred stolid Horned Ones. Adalon
noticed how their leather leggings were short and
their feet were bare, as if they spent much time in
the water. He expected them to be curious, but they
stood silently, placidly, as if they met three metal-clad
warriors every day of the week. They even took in
the sight of a Horned One on a riding beast without
a murmur.

An old female stood forward, and cocked her
head. She was large, like most Horned Ones, with
piebald skin. Her neck shield was scalloped in a
way that Adalon hadn't seen before, every second
indentation a deep, angular one. She had two nose
horns. She drew herself up and put her hands on her
hips. 'We'll take you to the Old One.'

Adalon's unease grew. The female Horned One
spoke with a flat, dull voice that made his tail twitch.
He would have thought their appearance would have
sparked lively interest, but the Horned One's eyes
were like stones.

'Old One?' Simangee said. 'It must be their leader,
wouldn't you say, Targesh? It sounds like we're being
honoured.'

Adalon caught Targesh's eye. 'I don't know.
Perhaps we should be getting on. We have a long
way to go.'

Targesh crossed his arms on his chest. 'These are
Horned Ones. My people. They will treat us well.'

He dismounted and stripped off his armour. Then
he held out his hand in greeting. The female Horned
One gazed at it miserably, then turned and led the
way through the throng toward the canoe.

Adalon hissed, in mild irritation. Targesh had left
them little choice. He shrugged. His Horned One
friend rarely led them astray.

Adalon leaped from the saddle and removed his
armour, bundling it neatly under his riding beast.
He reached for his scabbard, strapped to the saddle.
A squat Horned One reached out and slapped his
hand away. 'No weapons.'

Adalon stared, then looked at his friend. 'Targesh?'

Targesh had been studying the canoe with great
mistrust. He looked up and clacked his beak. 'Must
be a local custom. Disrespectful to bring weapons
to their home.'

Targesh took a deep breath and then lunged at the
canoe. He almost tipped it over, but the old female
steadied it with a practised hand. Targesh hesitated,
then half-fell into the wooden shell. He sat. 'Ready,'
he said in a strained voice.

Simangee finished removing her armour and
hurried to join him, eyes bright. It was another grand
adventure to her.

Adalon sighed, then chuckled. If nothing else,
he'd finally seen his friend in a boat, on water. It was
worth it for that alone.

The short journey across the lake amused Adalon
greatly. Targesh gripped the gunwales of the canoe as if
it were a wild riding beast waiting to pitch him into the
water. He gave every sign that he regretted his decision.
The Horned Ones wielded their paddles in unison,
while the old female sat in the prow, unspeaking.

When they neared the closest ruin, Adalon could
see that it extended well below the water. 'How deep
is it?' he asked the nearest Horned One. A blank
gaze was his only reply and Adalon frowned. Could
these saur be unfriendly and yet still hospitable?
Targesh seemed to think so, and Adalon hoped his
friend was right.

Adalon looked up. The remains of what once must
have been two slender towers loomed overhead. The
sides of the building were obscured by lichen, moss
and bushes that had somehow found root in the gaps
between the stones, but Adalon could see what was
left of intricate carving on the façade.

They drew up to a crumbling set of stairs, slick
with water weed and slime. The old female stepped
out of the canoe and disappeared into a gap where
stones had fallen from a narrow arch. Adalon nudged
Targesh. 'After you.'

His friend jerked and looked around. 'Careful,' he
said, then he stood slowly, lured by the sight of a solid
surface just one step away. He lunged toward the first
stair, then somehow got both feet out of the boat in
time to land awkwardly. He stood still for a moment,
then turned and helped Adalon and Simangee.

The canoeists stayed where they were, simply
staring at the strangers. Adalon shrugged and led his
friends up the stairs.

The sky was dull and grey as the clouds were
beginning to gather again, but it was bright enough
that Adalon was lost when he plunged into the
darkness after the old female. He stood a moment,
hands outstretched.

A shout went up. 'Seize them!'

Adalon spun around and faced a Horned
One charge. A dozen brawny Horned Ones were
thundering at him. Shoulder to shoulder, their arms
outstretched, the stones under his feet shook.

Adalon remembered games he'd played as a young
saur. He took a step backward and then rushed at
the Horned Ones. With Clawed One speed, he took
three steps then launched himself at the nearest
Horned One.

With speed on his side, Adalon flipped, pushing
off the Horned One's shoulders. He then used
his momentum and somersaulted right over the
astonished villager's head, giving the ingrate a
thwack with his tail as he went.

Adalon landed in a crouch. But before he could
congratulate himself, a second wave of Horned Ones
charged at him.

A shoulder struck him in the chest. He fell, and
they had him. Ungentle blows made his head ring,
then hard hands grasped his limbs and tail, holding
him down. He protested, but in uncanny silence, he
was bound with water-slick ropes. They stank.

'Sim!' he cried. 'Targesh!'

A blow to his jaw made his head rock back. He
glared at his assailant, but received only a blank
stare in response.

The old female came close, holding a crude
lantern. 'Bring them to the Old One.'
Adalon struggled. 'Wait! Why are you doing this?
Let us go!'

'No!' Targesh bellowed. 'This is not right!'

The old female turned away without a word.

Two burly Horned Ones seized him. Adalon was
dragged along, his struggles futile. When he tried
to reason with his captors, he was buffeted with a
casual blow from a fist the size of a melon. After
this, he gritted his teeth and tried to see where he
was being taken.

Already thinking of escape, Adalon took note
of dark corridors, uneven floors, ceilings that had
once been highly carved and were now crumbling
and shrouded in spider-webs. The dank smell of
fish, mildew and rot hung heavily on everything.
His captors used torches that were made of reeds.
The smoke from these was foul and added to the
atmosphere of grime and decay.

Eventually, he was yanked upright in front of the
remains of a massive doorway. Twin pillars stood
on either side, both in the likeness of tree trunks.
Doors made of solid slabs of timber had been added,
and looked much newer than the age-wearied stone
around them. Impassively, the old female stared into
his face. 'The Old One is waiting for you.'

Adalon twisted in his bonds and saw that his
friends were propped up on either side of him.
Simangee looked furious, but Targesh's expression
was a mixture of shame and great sadness. He lifted
his head and shook his neck shield at the old female.
'What of the Way of the Horn?'