The King in Reserve

by Michael Pryor

  Cries of dismay made him turn to see Targesh and Simangee hurtle through the gap, one after the other. Adalon gasped when he saw how close they came to being knocked off as they squeezed through the narrow passage.

  Outside the gap, he saw the Thraag riders milling, but none of them made any attempt to follow.

  'Move further in,' Adalon said, and his advice was proven timely as a volley of arrows came through the gap. One struck the broken top of a pillar that was peeping from under a squat spearbush. Adalon stared at it and saw the tell-tale angular script of the A'ak. His chest tightened and his tail flicked once, with a sharp snap.

  Ever since he'd fled the wrath of Queen Tayesha, he had been coming up against the remnants of the A'ak at every turn. His fate and the fate of the sinister, banished race seemed linked. At times, it was as if he were a piece in a game, being moved around by forces much larger than he was, and according to rules he would never understand.

  No! he thought and he made an angry noise at the back of his throat. I am not a pawn! I am in charge of my own destiny, for better or for worse!

  'Adalon?' Gormond's voice was small and weary.

  'We're safe, Your Majesty.'

  He halted his steed in a clear area surrounded by the straight trunks of beech and alder. He could make out stonework wherever he looked, much of it fallen and broken. At least, I hope we're safe.

  'Let us cross this cursed place quickly,' he said, 'and leave our pursuers behind.'

  'Aye,' Targesh said. 'And leave the A'ak alone.'

  'The A'ak?' Gormond said, brightening. 'This is an A'ak place? We must explore! Who knows what we may find?'

  'Oh, we know a thing or two about the A'ak,' Simangee said, smiling.

  Adalon wasn't sure he liked the light of curiosity in Simangee's eyes, but he knew there was little he could do about it. He looked back the way they'd come. 'We're not being followed. Let's see if we can snatch some rest before we move on.'

  Fourteen

  They set up camp some way into the ivy-covered ruins, sheltered from the wind by the remains of an outbuilding. In the same way mould would grow on a piece of cheese, vegetation had enveloped what once had been a sizeable A'ak settlement. Masonry protruded through the thick growth. Many years had passed since the disappearance of the A'ak - long enough for buildings to crumble beneath the slow assault of nature. Adalon felt small in the face of such immensity.

  Simangee warmed her hands at the fire. 'The Thraag troops must have known,' she said. 'That's why they wouldn't follow.'

  Gormond poked a stick into the flames, his eyes bright with excitement. 'What sort of place was this?'

  'A keep, I'd say,' Simangee suggested. 'With a small hamlet nestled outside the walls.'

  'No-one would put a settlement in the middle of a forest like this,' Adalon said. 'It must have been built before the woods grew here.'

  Targesh was sharpening his axe with a whetstone. He looked around. 'No birds.'

  Adalon scratched his chin with a claw. The place was like a tomb. 'It's an unwholesome place.'

  'That's as may be,' Simangee said, 'but let's not miss an opportunity.'

  Adalon groaned. 'No, Sim, there's no time to explore.'

  'Explore haunted ruins?' Gormond said. 'A perfect task for our band of brave adventurers. I couldn't look Sachi in the face if we don't.'

  'Just a quick look, Adalon,' Simangee pleaded.

  'We can't spare the time,' Adalon said. 'We must press on.'

  Gormond looked disappointed. 'Very well. But give us a moment or two before we have to remount that metal beast. It might be magic, but my tailbones aren't.'

  Adalon looked at the sun. Early morning still. 'A moment. That's all.'

  Targesh looked warily at the ruins around them, but Simangee and Gormond peered about, bright-eyed. Adalon rummaged about and found a strip of dried, spiced meat in one of his saddlebags. He chewed on it thoughtfully, glad he wouldn't have to don his armour straightaway. Even though it was far more comfortable than conventional armour, it didn't stop his sweating and itching. He enjoyed the air on his skin and the chance for a good scratch.

  He stretched hugely, yawned and attacked a ferocious itch just above the base of his tail. 'My tunic needs a good wash,' he said.

  Simangee wrinkled her snout. 'And so do you, Adalon.'

  'When we get back to the Lost Castle.' Adalon half-smiled. He never thought he'd be thinking of an A'ak stronghold as home.

  Gormond strolled about, using a stick to scrape creeper away from stone. He peered with obvious interest at the masonry before scrambling over a chunk of broken battlement. 'If this is the wall, the keep must have been over there,' he said. 'Marvellous!'

  Adalon looked over the expanse. Mature trees grew out of what must once have been a courtyard. The low humps of creeper-covered stone that ran in a rough circle could have been walls. Green-swathed hummocks would have been stables and outbuildings. He tried to imagine it when it was new – a bustling courtyard, wagons, the smoke of cooking fires.

  Simangee and Targesh joined Adalon. She offered him some tea. 'Gormond seems as interested in the A'ak as I am,' she said.

  Targesh chuckled. 'He's living his dream.'

  They watched as the young king stooped and picked up a shard of stone. He examined it for a moment then lobbed it toward the tangled thicket of wild roses on the west of the ruined keep. It vanished without a sound.

  When Gormond had reached halfway between the remains of the walls and the keep, he stopped and scratched at the ground with his stick. Then he bent over nearly double, peering at what he'd uncovered. He straightened and waved. 'Look! See what I've found!'

  But before they could take a step, the earth around Gormond opened up. A cloud of dust and he disappeared.

  Adalon grabbed his sword and vaulted the ruined wall before he knew it. He raced to the spot where the young king had vanished. Waving away dust, he searched with slitted eyes until he found the yawning hole. He sheathed his sword and dropped to his knees. 'Gormond!'

  Simangee circled the hole, keeping back from the edge, which was a mess of loose earth, creeper and crumbling flagstones. 'Gormond!' she called.

  Targesh reached Adalon's side, a coil of rope in his hands. Without a word, he looped the rope around his massive shoulders and threw an end into the pit. 'Go,' he grunted, then dug in his feet.

  Adalon knew that Targesh was as solid as a tree trunk. He took the rope, his feet braced against the crumbling walls of the shaft, and began to lower himself. He glanced up to see Simangee's anxious face looking down at him. 'Hurry up,' she called. 'I'm coming after you.'

  Adalon curled his tail to one side and eased himself downward. He felt stone against the soles of his feet. A gentle draught was clearing the dust and he quickly reached the bottom. He'd been afraid that he was going to find Gormond's body, but the dry, stone-lined bottom of the pit was bare.

  He shaded his eyes. Simangee was on the edge of the hole, only three or four armspans up. 'I'm down,' he said. 'Solid stone underfoot.'

  Immediately, she took the rope and slithered down, taking far less time than Adalon had. 'Where is he?' she asked as she wiped her hands on her tunic.

  Three round tunnels led away from the pit, each nearly as tall as Adalon. They smelled dry and were made of the tightly fitted stonework that Adalon had grown to recognise as A'ak work. Each of the tunnels led to darkness.

  'Which one?' Simangee asked, turning her crested head from side to side. 'Where can he be?'

  'I have no idea.'

  A voice came from the middle tunnel. 'I'm in this one. Hurry up, will you? And bring a light. It's dark down here.'

  Gormond kept up a steady stream of complaints while Targesh went back to the riding beasts for a lantern. With its light, Adalon and Simangee found the young king a stone's throw away down the tunnel, which sloped away into the distance. He was buried up to his waist in dirt, snapped roots and fragments of paving stones.

  'How did you end up here?
' Simangee demanded.

  Gormond didn't seem particularly discomforted. 'I landed on some springy stuff. Plants, I think. Then I was swept along by all this stuff.' He gestured at the debris. 'I suppose I was lucky not to be buried upside down.'

  Gormond's eyes were bright in the lantern light as Adalon and Simangee pulled him free. 'This must lead right under where the A'ak castle was,' he said. He slapped dirt from his rich garments. 'We must explore.'

  'No,' Adalon said. 'It's not safe. We must leave.'

  Simangee nodded, but her face was wistful.

  Gormond shook his head with impatience. 'We can't forgo a chance like this. Think what we could learn.'

  At that moment the ground rumbled, shifting underfoot as if it were alive. Adalon flung his arms wide, trying to keep his balance, but stumbled against the wall of the tunnel. He hissed with pain, and it was only his Clawed One agility that kept him from being thrown off his feet – but it wasn't enough to save the lantern. It crashed against the wall, its metal housing ringing like a bell, then it went out and all was dark.

  For an instant, Adalon stood motionless in the blackness. The tunnel groaned, and from behind them came the sound of earth collapsing. 'Targesh!' Adalon cried, but choking dust caught in his throat and made him cough.

  The rumbling noise of the collapse lessened. Adalon waited, then steadied himself and groped for the tinderbox at his belt. With trembling hands, he struck a flame and his legs almost gave way with relief when the lantern lit at his first try.

  Through stinging eyes he saw Simangee curled up on the floor of the tunnel, knees tucked up and almost touching her chin, arms wrapped around her crested head. Gormond was on the floor as well, almost in a complete ball, the time-honoured method Plated Ones used to escape danger.

  They were safe enough, but Adalon was afraid for Targesh. If the ground collapsed, he had a long way to fall . . .

  He peered back up the tunnel to see Targesh staggering through the dust toward him, groping and coughing, rope still looped around his shoulders. His battleaxe was strapped on his back.

  Adalon grasped his friend and steadied him. 'Are you all right?'

  'The ground fell in. No way out back there.'

  Gormond uncurled and lifted his smiling face. 'Now we'll have to explore,' he said brightly.

  Targesh snorted and cleared his throat. 'Spare us from foolish kings.'

  Fifteen

  As they pushed on through the tunnel, the darkness stole in and wrapped them up. The relit lantern did its best, but the shadows were thick, clinging, hard to dispel. After their adventures in the past year, Adalon felt that he should be accustomed to underground explorations, but he still couldn't shake off his uneasiness as they crept into quietness. He rapidly tapped his thumbclaw and the claw on his forefinger together in a nervous rhythm that was even faster than his racing heart.

  Adalon held the lantern and led the way, with Gormond directly behind, constantly treading on his heels in his excitement. Simangee's chuckles followed Gormond and Targesh was at the rear.

  The tunnel led down sharply. Adalon's disquiet grew and he slowed their progress. He scanned every inch of the stone floor, alert for poor footholds. And traps, he reminded himself, suspicious that the A'ak may have wanted to discourage intruders.

  A short distance along the tunnel, the lantern flame began to waver. Adalon halted.

  'What is it?' Gormond asked.

  'A draught,' Simangee said. 'Can't you feel it?'

  'If air can get in, we can get out,' Targesh said.

  'But what's that noise?' Gormond asked.

  Adalon cocked his head and listened. He realised that the noise had been growing for some time. In fact, he'd been feeling it through the soles of his feet long before his ears were aware of it. It was a drone – a deep, unsettling hum that set his teeth on edge. 'I don't know.'

  'Doesn't sound good,' Targesh said. 'Weapons?'

  'Yes.' Adalon shifted the lantern to his left hand and drew his sword. A thrill ran up his arm and he straightened, smiling. He heard faint sounds – whispers of glory and whispers of cruelty – but he shook them away.

  He stood, his tail thrashing, and lifted the lantern high. Ahead, the flagstones were broken and buckled. His stomach tightened, but he edged forward, looking for any stones that were ready to tilt or crumble.

  Every nerve on edge, Adalon led the way – a handful of cautious paces, testing each step. The droning had grown louder, deeper and even more unsettling. Adalon had visions of a swarm of monstrous insects and he grimaced.

  Simangee let out a cry. Adalon jerked his head up, startled and ready with his sword. The lantern light bobbed and wandered, but it showed that the tunnel widened and led through an arch of silver bricks. Adalon peered and saw that the bricks were marked with the distinctive A'ak script.

  Before Adalon could stop her, Simangee pushed past and hurried to the arch. She ran a hand over the harsh, angular characters. 'Just like we saw at the Fiery Isles.'

  'You've been to the Fiery Isles?' Gormond said, eyes wide.

  'We'll tell you that story another time,' Adalon said quickly. He restored his sword to its sheath, stepped through the arch. On the other side, the tunnel changed. The ceiling was two or three times higher. Shafts of dim light descended from tiny holes, like bars stretching from roof to floor. Irregular projections of stone thrust from the floor and walls so the chamber looked like a rocky forest.

  'Listen,' Targesh said.

  The droning noise had changed, rising to an eerie hooting that made Adalon shiver.

  Simangee sniffed. 'I can smell the world outside. This is the way.' But she shook her curved crest impatiently.

  'What's wrong?' Adalon asked.

  She grimaced. 'That noise.' She screwed up her face. 'It's not good. It's wrong.'

  'It sounds irritating,' Gormond said, 'but that's all.'

  'No.' Simangee was firm and Adalon noticed his friend was trembling. 'It's unwholesome.'

  'A'ak stuff?' Targesh asked.

  'Yes.'

  Adalon knew that her brushes with A'ak power had made her sensitive to its force. 'Perhaps there's another way out.'

  'No,' Simangee whispered. 'We must go this way.'

  'We go with care, then.' He drew his sword.

  'This is not a matter for swords.' The droning rose sharply for an instant, and Simangee winced. 'The A'ak have tried to sour the music of the world.'

  Adalon put a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'It causes you pain?'

  She nodded, her eyes downcast. 'The Way of the Crest is helping me endure it.'

  The Ways of the other saur folk were always strange to Adalon, brought up as he was to follow the Way of the Claw and its lessons for living a worthy life. Simangee had tried to explain the Way of the Crest to him, but it had baffled him endlessly. Perhaps it was that much of the Way of the Crest was wordless, relying on intricate melodies and shifts in pitch that bore deep significance to Crested Ones, attuned as they were to music. Adalon enjoyed music as much as the next saur, but preferred a claw-tapping jig or a simple round rather than the braided harmonies that the Crested Ones wove when contemplating a worthwhile life.

  'Do you know what's making the noise?' he asked Simangee. He peered ahead through the shafts of light. He felt a breeze on his face and it smelled fresh.

  'I think so. Let's see.'

  She took the lantern and led the way. The breeze grew stronger, making the lantern flicker until Simangee sheltered it with a hand. Adalon followed. The tunnel was broad enough now for Gormond and Targesh to walk by his side. Gormond looked around as if he was in a wonderland. Targesh was grimmer, and he held his axe two-handed in front of him.

  The breeze grew stronger, and as it did the drone became louder. Adalon's teeth ached at the harsh noise that assaulted them, echoing along the tunnel.

  'See?' Simangee shouted, pointing at the way ahead. 'The A'ak were cunning!'

  Adalon narrowed his eyes against the rushing air and stared.
Vases? Pots? What were these objects?

  Thrusting up from the tunnel floor were what looked like sawn-off stalagmites of all sizes. Some were taller than he was, others were barely ankle height, but all had flat tops. When Adalon approached, he saw that these stone knobs were hollow – they were pipes.

  'They're making that horrible noise,' Gormond shouted.

  Simangee swayed, but Adalon thought it wasn't the breeze alone that was buffeting his friend. 'Yes.'

  Targesh pointed. Simangee held up the lantern. The wind-catchers also hung from the ceiling and stuck out from the walls at all angles. Their voices joined together, shifting as the wind rose and fell, but always coming together in a chorus that rasped on Adalon's soul.

  'The A'ak have done this,' Simangee cried. She thrust the lantern on Adalon. 'It's a stone wind organ, tuned to their ends. They've channelled the wind and fashioned the pipes to make their ugliness. Do not let it affect you!'

  Adalon felt the sound working on him. He felt sick, his stomach churned – but the noise affected him more profoundly than that. His palms sweated, and every part of him wanted to turn and flee. He felt unworthy to be in such a place.

  Simangee swayed, her hands at her temples, as the wind grew stronger – and the noise swelled. The drone rose to a howl and Adalon's shoulders sagged. It was no good. His efforts were meaningless, his life was a waste. The A'ak were all-powerful and deserved to rule for all time.

  A voice rose over the deadly noise of the stone pipes. 'No,' Simangee said. Adalon heard her quite clearly over the A'ak wind organ, even though she hadn't shouted. He looked at her and saw that her eyes were closed, and tears were running down her agonised face.

  He glanced to either side. Gormond had removed a dagger from his belt and was turning it over with a look of horror on his face. Targesh looked sick, but plucked the knife from the young king and threw it away. Gormond shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself.

  Adalon went to speak, but words shrivelled in his mouth as the A'ak chorus shifted pitch. It still droned and howled, but now he couldn't move. It were as if he'd been turned to stone. He struggled, but it was useless. It took all his effort to keep breathing. Then, with malice, the chorus added another evil strain. A shrieking whistle sliced at him, striking like a blade. He cried out but his voice was lost in the cold, maddening voice of the A'ak.