The King in Reserve

by Michael Pryor

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Targesh's bulky shape. His friend's axe was well suited to the task, and he was chopping methodically, making mayhem among the serpents. None came close enough to do any damage to him as his axe was a blur of steel, impassable and deadly.

  Panting, head pounding, Adalon hacked through a serpent that was as thick as his thigh. Then he swung again, backhanded, but cursed when he struck stone. His hand went numb and he dropped the sword. He ducked, searching for it with his other hand.

  Then he realised he'd reached the wall. He was close enough to see a sand serpent – or what was left of one – disappearing right through the stone, like a thread being pulled through cloth. He gaped, then could make out others – five, ten, he lost count.

  The dust cleared a little. Adalon turned and saw Simangee dragging Hoolgar through the whirling red storm.

  Adalon shook off his surprise and sprang to help. The old saur's glasses were missing and he groaned hoarsely. He peered from side to side. 'They nearly had me,' he wheezed. 'But I escaped. Caverns. Everywhere.'

  'Who took you?' urged Simangee. Her tears mixed with the red dust. She looked as if she were crying blood.

  'The A'ak,' Hoolgar managed to say, then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

  Six

  Hoolgar's room faced east, where the sun rose over the jagged mountains that encircled the Hidden Valley. For the rest of the day, Adalon, Targesh and Simangee watched over their old tutor as he lay there on his bed, gripped by a nightmare that would not let go.

  Hours went by as the old tutor mumbled and shivered, his eyes screwed tightly shut. At one stage in that long afternoon, Moralon came by and stood in the doorway for some time. He held his game board, but his gaze was on Hoolgar as the old saur thrashed his arms in distress. Adalon watched with interest, for this was more engaged than he'd seen his uncle since he'd been saved from the dungeons of High Battilon.

  Moralon remained on the threshold of Hoolgar's room for some time, but eventually shuffled off without saying a word.

  Toward evening, as candlelight replaced the struggling light of day, Hoolgar sat bolt upright, eyes wide. He clutched at Adalon's arm. 'The A'ak . . . the A'ak!' he repeated hoarsely.

  Targesh took the Crested One's shoulders and eased him back to the bed.

  'Hush,' Simangee said. 'Rest, Hoolgar. You're safe now.'

  Hoolgar mumbled a little, harsh words under his breath, then shook his head. 'I know I'm safe now,' he snapped. 'I wasn't about to escape from the A'ak and flee to somewhere unsafe. I'm not that stupid.'

  Simangee blinked at this outburst. She looked at Adalon, puzzlement in her eyes. He shrugged and shook his head in bewilderment. 'Rest,' she said. 'You need rest.'

  Hoolgar lifted a hand. 'I aim to do just that.'

  'You were with the A'ak?' Adalon asked.

  'They abducted me. They reached out from the plane where they've been imprisoned, and plucked me from your midst.' He lifted himself onto one elbow and glanced sideways. 'They've found ways to do that, you know.'

  Adalon feared for his state of mind. 'Easy, Hoolgar.'

  'It's true! They are powerful, the A'ak are, most powerful.' His hands twitched, and he clasped them together. 'They're getting closer to bringing themselves through. They're breaking down the wall that separates their prison plane from our own.'

  Adalon's head spun. 'Why did they take you, Hoolgar?'

  The old saur sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He trembled a little, but he waved Simangee away. 'It was a mistake. They wanted one of you.' He rubbed his face with both hands. 'It was a nightmare place.'

  Adalon felt like a general on a battlefield when an enemy suddenly appears from an unexpected direction. 'What can you tell us? We must learn what we can.'

  Hoolgar grimaced. 'You saw the stone creature drag me through the wall. On the other side was the prison plane of the A'ak. I was choking, couldn't breathe, and I felt as if I was being crushed.' He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, 'The pressure eased and I was in a world of shadows. Not just black shadows either, but dark purples, reds, browns . . . I couldn't make out anything because the whole world was a shifting, sliding mess of darkness.' He looked at the three of them with haunted eyes. 'I was afraid. I fell to my knees, but the stone creature dragged me.'

  Targesh went to the small washstand and returned with a mug of water. Hoolgar took it and nodded his thanks. 'I was thrown into a place,' he continued. 'It was empty, I think. I stumbled through the shadows but could find no walls. Then the A'ak spoke to me.' He shuddered. 'I couldn't see them, but their voices came through the shadows and cut me like knives.'

  'What did they want?' Adalon asked.

  'They wanted to know who had taken possession of the Lost Castle. They were aware of Queen Tayesha's plans and were vastly amused at them. Arrogant, they were. They seemed to think they had nothing to hide.'

  Hoolgar paused, sipped some water and placed the mug down. Then he put his hands together and rubbed them slowly. 'From their questioning, I learned a little about them and their plans.' He glanced at them. 'I'm not an utter fool, you know. In my years, I have learned much – including how to look doddery and helpless.'

  'What did you learn, Hoolgar?' Adalon asked.

  'It was the land itself that rejected the A'ak all those years ago. They cared not for the land and were cast out, into the prison plane. But the land has been weakened by Tayesha's mad scheme and the A'ak see this as their chance.'

  The three friends were silent as they contemplated this horror. A land in upheaval with the A'ak set free? Adalon groaned as the weight of this nightmare settled on him. It is worse than I feared, he thought.

  Targesh grimaced at Hoolgar. 'You escaped?'

  Hoolgar nodded. 'Eventually, they ceased their interrogation. I was left alone, smothered and confused, in the shadows. Later, I found I was able to crawl – so I did. I closed my eyes, bruising my hands and knees as I scrambled. If I could find the place where I was brought into the A'ak's plane of imprisonment, I hoped I could drag myself back through. And that's what happened.'

  Adalon blinked. 'As simple as that?'

  'Of course it wasn't simple,' Hoolgar flared. 'Again and again, I was attacked; I fought them off; I was lost, afraid, despairing and hungry.' He glanced at Targesh. 'Fetch me some food, will you?'

  Adalon felt uneasy. Had the A'ak allowed Hoolgar to escape? And to what end? He felt ashamed, but he vowed to watch the old tutor closely.

  'I'm sorry, Hoolgar,' Simangee fussed. 'Here we are interrogating you when you should be resting.'

  'Yes, well, that sounds good.' He clapped his beak together and looked at Adalon. 'You must go, though, to rescue King Gormond.'

  Adalon looked at the old tutor. The Crested One looked back steadily. 'Simangee?' Adalon said. 'Would you be willing to leave Hoolgar here at the Lost Castle? He needs to recover.'

  'Go, go,' Hoolgar said. 'I'm not made of glass. I'll be up and about before you know it.'

  Seven

  Queen Tayesha sat in her private room high in the Needle, the tallest tower of Gralloch Palace. Despite the roaring fire in the hearth and the furs she was wrapped in, she was shivering.

  Tayesha thought of the stone assassin that had somehow found her underground refuge. She put a hand to her throat. It was still tender. She didn't know how such a thing had found her magical retreat, but the power of the A'ak was a thing of legend. Since that almost fatal assault, she hadn't returned to her subterranean sanctuary, no matter how much she yearned for its ancient silence.

  The A'ak. She shivered and stared at the coals, wondering why they didn't give off more heat. It had been the A'ak who had been thwarting her plans, interfering with her magic, sapping her strength. And now they were on the doorstep . . .

  She hissed and snapped her claws together. No. They could not be allowed to stop her. She rose with Clawed One grace, yet she felt her age weighing on her. Her life had
been long and rich, but it was coming to an end – unless she could assume the overlordship of Krangor. An ultimate ruler, utterly in partnership with the land, would achieve immortality.

  Tayesha could see it. Endlessly reigning, kind and generous, she would be the guardian of the land and the saur, the protector of all, wanting nothing in return but the loyalty of her subjects. A rule without end, great and glorious.

  But the A'ak could ruin everything if they returned. She must stop them, but how? Their magic was strange and powerful – and she had so much else to do.

  She steeled herself. Greatness lay ahead of her, but only if she could chart a course in these dangerous times. She needed to strengthen her magic in order to thwart the A'ak. While she did this, her armies had to continue their campaign of conquest. Knobblond had fallen, but the other five kingdoms needed toppling if she was to become ruler of all Krangor.

  That, she could leave to Wargrach. The other generals had proven to be a feckless lot, more concerned with fighting among themselves. The final debacle in Sleeto was testament to that: her entire army routed by a ragtag force of vagabonds. They'd complained of being savaged by flying monsters, but such bleatings were just desperate excuses.

  Magic, however, was her province. Long ago, when she'd ascended the throne of Thraag, she had made a bond with the land. Since then she'd lived with the great and terrible power that belonged to each of the rulers of the seven kingdoms. She'd assumed it was age that had made her magic begin to wane, but now it seemed that the A'ak were responsible.

  She needed more time to pore over the volumes of magical lore that she had assembled. The answer must be in them. In the multitude of rituals and incantations, she would find the way to defeat the A'ak and – once the rulers of the other kingdoms were gone – become the one and only ruler of Krangor.

  A soft knocking came at the door. Tayesha stared, then crossed the room. Lady Sillian stood there, her Crested One lady-in-waiting. She bobbed a curtsey. 'Your Majesty, Duke Wargrach has sent a message.'

  'A plague on Wargrach,' Tayesha muttered.

  'Your Majesty?'

  Tayesha hissed and twitched her tail. Wargrach was a brilliant commander, but she suspected his motives. He was deep as the endless sea, with monsters hiding beneath the surface.

  'What did he say?'

  'Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but the Duke has left. He said to tell you he's on his way back to the Eastern Peaks.'

  Tayesha hissed again and her claws bit into her palms. 'Without permission?'

  'I . . . Your Majesty . . . He didn't –'

  'Leave me.'

  The flustered Lady Sillian dropped a curtsey and hurried off. Tayesha closed the door and leaned against it. 'What are you up to, Wargrach?' she said aloud, and her claws bit deep into the wood behind her.

  Eight

  The magical steeds galloped arrow-swift across the countryside. In the early light of dawn, forest, hills and grasslands melted underneath the flashing brass hoofs. They burst through forests, skirted marshes and leaped over streams. What would have taken weeks for foot soldiers took only hours for the A'ak steeds.

  Overhead, two dozen Winged Ones escorted the riders, scouting ahead for danger. The other half of the Winged Ones squad was searching further afield, looking for King Gormond of Knobblond.

  As the day stretched past noon and into the evening without the steeds slackening their thunderous passage, Adalon found himself imagining hordes of A'ak crossing Krangor on such riding beasts. The thought chilled him, and the shadows extending across the lightly wooded countryside did nothing to dispel this feeling.

  And yet, he thought as the brass steeds thundered on, I'm willing to use their magical beasts, to wear their armour, use their weapons.

  One hand left the reins and crept to the sword at his belt. The hilt felt good when he gripped it. He knew its keenness would be useful if it came to a fight, and his sky-blue armour was better than any he'd ever worn before. The A'ak knew their business. And if he was strong, he felt he could use them without succumbing to their whispering.

  It was a struggle, resisting the voices of the A'ak weapons, the A'ak armour. He knew they wanted to make him cruel and fearless, like the A'ak, but he shuddered at that prospect. He was quite happy being Adalon of the Eastern Peaks, with his fumblings and fears. At least they were his own.

  Ahead, the south branch of the Astolet River wound its way across the flat border region between Thraag and Knobblond. The two branches of the Astolet formed the northern and southern borders of the narrow kingdom of Knobblond, and at the place where they met sprawled Muhna, the capital.

  Adalon had visited Knobblond only once, when his father had taken him on a leisurely visit. Young Adalon had been struck by the vast walls that surrounded Muhna, thick and high, as if the twin rivers were not protection enough. His father had told him how the early Plated One rulers had simply applied the notion of their own armour to the design of their dwelling place.

  The Knobblonders had been shrewd enough to make the most of their central position in the western half of the vast continent of Krangor. Goods flowed from Thraag in the south to Virriftinar and Bondorborar in the north, aided by the barges that went up and down the two branches of the Astolet. Muhna grew rich on trade.

  'We cross the river at Muhna?' Targesh asked when they drew close to the tree-lined river. He leaned forward in his saddle and scratched his neck shield.

  Adalon eased his seat and stretched his tail. His magical armour was comfortable, but he still felt the effects of the hours of riding. 'Let us see what our scouts say.'

  He looked up at the darkening sky and waved. Almost immediately, a Winged One swooped down and landed.

  'Kikkalak,' Simangee said, and laughed, 'you've been keeping an eye on us?'

  The young Winged One lieutenant clacked her beak-like mouth and gave them a sour look. 'You groundlings need someone responsible to watch over you. You'd stumble over your own feet otherwise.'

  'What news?' Adalon asked. 'Any sign of our missing king?'

  'Hah.' Kikkalak used her spear to scratch her back. 'Woods, forests, scrub everywhere. Lots of places to hide.'

  'And the Queen's troops?' Targesh asked.

  'Plenty of them, scrambling all over, both sides of the river. Bumbling, mostly, it looks like. I saw a patrol stranded in a marsh a few miles to the northeast, but none around here.'

  'What about Muhna?' Simangee asked.

  'A Thraag hive.' Kikkalak spat in the dust. 'More troops there than anywhere. Probably the loungers who don't want to do the dirty work out in the countryside.'

  Adalon dismounted, removed his helmet and stretched. 'It sounds as if it would be pointless to try to enter Muhna, then.'

  'The King fled,' Simangee reminded them. 'It's the last place he'd be.'

  'Where else could we cross the river?' Adalon asked Kikkalak.

  'No bridges around here. A village a few miles to the north-east has a ferry,' she said, and pointed with her spear.

  Adalon's tail twitched. To cross the river or not? Where was the best place to look for King Gormond?

  Adalon had little knowledge of the ruler of Knobblond. He was young, the youngest of the rulers of the seven kingdoms – a full three years younger than Adalon himself – and was known to be a keen upholder of the Plated One heritage and all it stood for – strength in adversity, resistance in the face of hardship, perseverance against the odds. He was reputed, however, to have a modern approach to these values, and was much loved for it by his subjects.

  So where would a fugitive king go?

  'Kikkalak, can you assemble your scouts? We need to hear what they've seen.'

  'We'll join you soon.' The Winged One turned and jogged off, leaping into the air after she had built up enough speed. She banked and soared away to the east, her wings blocking the first of the evening stars.

  Simangee took out a pocket harp and strummed a few notes. 'I don't suppose we could rest a while and make some tea?'


  Targesh rumbled an agreement, but Adalon shook his head. 'We should press on, while we have light.'

  To the soft sounds of the pocket harp, they ambled along the edge of the mighty Astolet River. It was slow and broad here – only a gifted archer could send an arrow across its breadth. Thick stands of trees lined both banks, and on this southern side they were glad to find a track that led through the undergrowth.

  A grating screech overhead made Adalon look up. Through the thick canopy he saw that Kikkalak had found her two companies of Winged Ones. She shook her spear in greeting, banked overhead, then folded her wings and dropped through the trees.

  Adalon cried out but Kikkalak caught a tree branch to slow her descent, then swung and dropped right in front of them. Close behind came the other Winged Ones, leaping from branch to branch before landing as lightly as thistledown.

  Adalon felt like applauding. 'You found your scouts more quickly than you thought, Kikkalak?'

  'They were looking for me, which helped.' She gestured at the company of Winged Ones. They varied in height, but all were lean, with the long stringy muscles of their kind. They chattered excitedly, some rattling their spears on the small, round shields the Winged Ones favoured. 'They've found your missing king,' Kikkalak announced proudly.

  Adalon grinned. 'You truly are wonder workers! I salute you!'

  Kikkalak did her best to grumble and wave this away, but Adalon could see her satisfaction. 'You can do no better than rely on the eyes of Winged Ones. It was Theera who found the King and his saur. She can see a flea on the back of a rabbit at a hundred paces.'

  Theera was a small Winged One with a patch of white scales on one cheek. She grinned and waved.

  'Can we go to him now?' Adalon asked Kikkalak. The night was drawing in more quickly than he'd anticipated.