Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1)

by Barclay, Alex

  Oland felt something stir at the edges of his consciousness, an idea beginning to form. Something to do with waves, their rage and their calm. No white crests.

  Oland sat up. “Waves!” he cried. King Micah’s riddle rushed back to him. “Depth and height. From blue to white!” A wave!

  “I have found the Crest of Sabian,” he said. The giant wave that struck the shore of what was once Sabian.

  Oland realised that it had never been a heraldic crest they were searching for. It was the crest of a wave.

  “Delphi,” he shouted, running back towards the water. “Delphi – it was the wave. The Crest of Sabian… Delphi… Delphi…”

  He had discovered the Crest of Sabian. But it was gone, and it had taken Delphi with it. Powerful gusts encircled him. An unfamiliar pain burned in his chest. He struggled to breathe. But he could no longer blame the wind for that. The fact that he had found someone like Delphi and so quickly lost her was what was truly taking his breath away.

  Distraught, Oland backed away from the sea and walked up towards the dunes. He thought about the crest; he wondered, could a wave really be lost? Or was it just swallowed up by the sea and returned again in a different form?

  He let out a breath as a feeling slowly crept over him. All of nature had been stirred up: the high winds at Galenore, the sea off Pallimer Bay, the terrifying height of the Crest of Sabian. Oland could feel the ground, unsettled, beneath him.

  He considered the rest of King Micah’s riddle:

  ‘What’s left behind is yours to find.’

  He looked around the beach. The only things that the wave had left behind were the stakes. And him. The boy who was to save the Kingdom of Decresian. He felt like a fool. The boat they had stolen had been washed high on to the dunes, and made his efforts seem all the more pathetic.

  But then he noticed something, something that had only appeared after the wave had struck. It was a deep channel that had been filled with seawater, and it wound into darkness through an archway in the cliff. Oland wondered if this was where he should go. He looked further up Curfew Peak. In the gloom, he could see the place where the drogues had attacked Delphi; he recognised the silhouette of the boulder where Delphi had lain.

  Delphi. With the recklessness that comes with loss, Oland ran up the dunes to the boat and dragged it towards the channel. He set it in the water and climbed inside. He had no reason to do anything else. He had nowhere else to go.

  He rowed up the channel. Before long, it ended in a pool, and from its centre rose a giant, craggy, triangular rock. The only sound was the echo of the lapping water. Oland sat in the boat, feeling like he had reached the end of the world. Cliffs towered around him. The only way out was the way he had come in. He had truly reached a dead end. The cliffs were so high and curved at the top, it was almost as dark as night. Oland looked up at the sky, and willed even a sliver of sunshine to appear. But he knew he had no power to alter the dark world of Curfew Peak.

  Suddenly, a shaft of sunlight shone through the opening. Oland straightened. He stared up, but it was no longer just the sun that had captured his attention. Halfway up the rock, at the centre of the pool, there was a metal door. Oland rowed closer. He tied the boat to a stanchion, and climbed up.

  The door was bolted shut in two places. Oland’s heart pounded wildly as he slid back the first bolt, then the second. He pushed open the door. The tiny cell glowed with candlelight. As he stood in the threshold, a figure came into focus. Oland’s legs were weakened by a rush of recognition. For before him a man, a portrait, had come to life.

  The man rose to his feet.

  Oland could not understand how this could be. He could not understand how now, years from his birth, and years after his death, stood roxley Prince Roxleigh… the lunatic prince.

  RINCE ROXLEIGH SMILED. ALTHOUGH HE HAD AGED, HE seemed youthful. His smile was as warm as Oland had been told and there was a charming curve to his mouth. His limbs were skinny, his neck slender and his grey hair was like tumbleweed.

  “Now, who might you be?” he said.

  Oland struggled to reply. He’d had no time to process the loss of his only friend, and now he had to process the reappearance of a dead prince.

  “My name is Oland Born.” he finally managed “I am from Decresian.”

  “And did you come looking for me or did you stumble across me?” said Roxleigh. His brow furrowed as he spoke and one eye opened slightly wider than the other. It was an endearing quirk.

  “But…” said Oland, “you’re…”

  “Mad?” said Roxleigh. “Dead?”

  Oland didn’t want to answer.

  “Both?” said Roxleigh. He smiled. “I’m sane and very much alive.”

  “But everyone thinks you went to an asylum,” said Oland.

  “Oh, I did. But that was a very long time ago…”

  “I know,” said Oland.

  “It is sad when a father thinks his son has gone mad,” said Roxleigh. “Sadder still when everyone appears to agree.”

  “But people only ever speak fondly of you,” said Oland.

  “Ah,” said Roxleigh, raising a finger, “but also mockingly.” He paused. “Have you ever called someone roxley?”

  Oland nodded. “Yes… I’m sorry…”

  Roxleigh smiled. “Now, back to the questions…”

  Oland was hesitant. “Why are you here? Why are you imprisoned?”

  Roxleigh smiled. “Please don’t worry, Oland. I’m on your side. I’m on the side of Decresian.”

  “Who keeps you here?” said Oland.

  “I keep myself here,” said Roxleigh. “I came to Curfew Peak for my own reasons, and then I decided to stay. Now, tell me, Oland – how did you come to be here?”

  Oland told him about finding King Micah’s letter, without mention of the archivist’s hand, which might have diminished the letter’s importance in the prince’s eyes.

  “Would you mind showing me the letter, Oland?” said Roxleigh.

  “A Pyreboy stole it…”

  “Frax?” said Roxleigh. “The firewild? It is ash by now, I imagine. He used to spend a lot of time in Galenore when he was younger. Before he fell under the spell of fire, he was a street act, a thief. Shameless. He once stole the emerald ring from a magistrate and had the gall to wear it himself. He used to steal anything from anyone – he wasn’t particular…”

  “What happened to his arm?” said Oland.

  “He tried to steal from the wrong person is what I heard,” said Roxleigh. “Now, to the king’s letter…”

  “I remember it all,” said Oland, “I’ve read it so many times.” And he recited the king’s words:

  “‘You live in the ruins of a once-proud kingdom destroyed by greed and misguided ambition. But fear not – Decresian shall be restored. And it falls to you, Oland Born, to do so. On such young shoulders, it will prove astonishing how light this burden will be.

  Your quest is to find the Crest of Sabian before The Great Rains fall, lest the mind’s toil of a rightful king be washed away.

  In life, a father’s folly may be his son’s reward.

  In case this letter were to fall into the wrong hands, to guide you, know this:

  Depth and height

  From blue to white

  What’s left behind

  Is yours to find.

  Be wise in your choice of companion and, by nightfall, be gone.

  In fondness and faith,

  King Micah of Decresian’”

  Roxleigh went very still. It was some time before he spoke. “I don’t quite understand all of that, Oland. But… tell me, have you heard anything from anyone else about The Great Rains?”

  “A madman,” Oland paused. “I mean… a man in the village of Derrington says that The Great Rains are nigh.”

  “Who is this man?” said Roxleigh.

  “His name is Magnus—”

  “Magnus Miller?” said Roxleigh.

  “Yes!” said Oland.

  �
��What about the Roses?” said Roxleigh.

  “Hester Rose?” said Oland. “That’s his wife, who tended the gardens of Castle Derrington.”

  “And the Dyers?” said Roxleigh.

  “Gaudy Dyer?” said Oland.

  Roxleigh nodded. “Are they saying the same thing?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Oland, “and a man called Bream who we met at Pallimer Bay. But how do you know these people?”

  “Decresian is a land of tradition,” said Roxleigh. “They’re all, I would guess, descendants of the group of great thinkers I was once part of, along with my dearest friend, Rowe. The Great Rains nearly destroyed Decresian, so it became one of the subjects we studied. No one had predicted them. We looked for signs… anything that might have foretold them.”

  “Such as?” said Oland.

  “There were teal flowers that only bloomed right before The Great Rains came,” said Roxleigh, “shoals of amber fish, particular types of cloud formations, high winds, shipwrecks, cyclonic waves—”

  “I don’t know about shipwrecks, but the rest have all happened,” said Oland.

  Roxleigh’s eyes widened. “In that case, we must return to Decresian at once,” he said.

  RINCE ROXLEIGH BLEW OUT THE CANDLE, AND THEY left the cell. Carefully, they made their way down the rocks and into the boat.

  “Why did everyone think you were insane?” said Oland.

  “From a very early age, I had knowledge beyond my years,” said Roxleigh. “Effectively, I could see things that other people couldn’t, maybe a link from one thing to another, or a future for something that seemed unimaginable or impossible. My father, King Seward… well, he thought I was a genius.” Roxleigh laughed. “He was a wonderful man, kind and generous and loving. He indulged me; he allowed me to build a laboratory in the dungeons of Castle Derrington. And so, while my peers were overhead in the arena learning sword skills that could end lives, I was learning skills that could enhance the lives of men.

  “When the bermid plague struck, everything changed. As you may know, my father, King Seward, vowed to contain the plague within Decresian, despite not understanding how it had come about. He tried what he could, but nothing worked and he was devastated. The plague raged on.

  “My very best friend, Rowe, and I were ‘joined at the brain’ as we used to say. We worked night and day to find a way to stop the plague. We focused on how these strange ants worked. And they literally worked, almost like soldiers. They were like hybrid insects – they behaved like ants, but they were also like bees, like scorpions. We had heard the myth of the drogues, and thought that perhaps there was something to it, which is often the case with myths: they contain elements of the truth or they’re exaggerated versions of the truth. We thought that perhaps on Curfew Peak there was some kind of hybrid beast. We didn’t expect something quite as fantastical as a drogue.” He paused. “Of course, that was exactly what we found. Or rather, what Rowe found. While I manned the laboratory at Derrington, he went alone on that journey. He was always the adventurer.” He smiled. “Rowe studied the drogues for weeks, unobserved. But one day, he let his guard down, and a pack attacked him. He slew a drogue, and the rest of the pack fled.”

  Oland thought of Delphi, and it sickened him. “Or the drogue was attacked by one of his pack,” he said, with new authority.

  Roxleigh shook his head. “No,” he said. “Remember, I have studied these beasts for years. I have never seen evidence of that.”

  “But how was Rowe able to slay a drogue?” said Oland.

  “Clever man that he is, he found their weak point. Because the vertebrae of the drogue are so pronounced, Rowe had observed that the seventh one down from the head was much smaller than the others. He struck that point and, indeed, it felled the beast. He returned to Derrington, triumphant. Between Rowe’s research and mine, we had discovered how the ants worked. The problem arose when I approached my father and told him how to tackle the plague. My father was sceptical, to say the least. I think his pride had been hurt and, regardless of how intelligent he believed me to be, he couldn’t accept that I was right. He thought if a king could not control this plague, how could a boy of nineteen?

  “And then tragedy struck. Rowe disappeared. I was distraught. We all were. Weeks passed with no sign of his return and, after much consideration, I confided in my father that Rowe had gone to Curfew Peak and had slain a drogue and that, perhaps, for some unknown reason, he had returned there.” Roxleigh took a deep breath. “I will never forget the look on my father’s face – one of pity and heartbreak. It was the expression of a loving father coming to the conclusion that his son was insane, after all my time holed up in my dungeon laboratory. ‘Your beloved friend succumbed to the plague, my dear Roxleigh – nothing more fantastical than that,’ he said. ‘You must understand that to believe in drogues is madness, and to say so outside the walls of this room will undermine both my rule… and your future rule.’

  “I was horrified. Nothing was more important to me than Rowe. I pleaded and begged with my father; I tried to convince him. I gave him all the details I possibly could. This is what people went on to describe as ‘wild ramblings’. It was just because they didn’t understand my ideas, because they were too advanced. At first, my father appeared to listen. But it transpired that he had simply become resigned to my insanity; the following night, doctors came for me, I was taken from my bed, strapped into a carriage and brought to an asylum.”

  “How did you escape?” said Oland.

  “I was eventually released,” said Roxleigh. “After my father died. He had signed me in for as long as he lived. Unfortunately, he lived for a very long time. And, once released, I came here, to Curfew Peak. It was, after all, the last place I thought Rowe had gone. I hoped to help him. While locked away in the asylum, I had much time to think, and I realised that Rowe’s behaviour changed only after his visit to Curfew Peak. When I asked him about slaying the drogue, he appeared haunted, even though he was the victor, the one who had triumphed.

  “I thought of the drogues and how curious they were and about the mongrel blood that coursed through them. I came to the conclusion that Rowe in some way had been poisoned on Curfew Peak – poisoned by the drogues. Despite the years that had passed, part of me hoped that my research was still in Castle Derrington, so I planned to travel back and search for it. Before I had a chance to, I was discovered here,” said Roxleigh. “Prison or no prison, I was still trespassing. And those who rule Curfew Peak did not want me to roam free, to reveal the secrets of the island.”

  “How did King Micah know you were here?” said Oland. “How did he know to send me here?”

  “A Pyreboy took pity on me,” said Roxleigh. “He had started out as my guard, but we had become friends, of sorts. Certainly, he was miserable with his life on Curfew Peak, and, like me, he wanted to be free. Though he was not from Decresian, he had ancestors there. He understood me. He was a very bright young man, who was innocent of the crime he was banished here for. He told me that King Micah, who was my brother Stanislas’ son, was now ruling Decresian. It gave me hope. Stanislas, who was only a child when I was sent away, looked up to me. He always believed in me, which of course meant nothing to anyone, because he was only a boy. Of course, it meant the world to me.

  “So my Pyreboy friend stowed away on the prison boat and made his way to Decresian to take my message to King Micah. It must have been fourteen years ago and I haven’t heard from him since. I know now that he must have reached King Micah, because, as you said, how else would he have known where to find me? I’m trying to work out how you figure in all of this, Oland. Clearly, you are a capable young man; after all, here you are. But why did King Micah himself not come for me?”

  “I’m afraid King Micah was overthrown fourteen years ago,” said Oland. “He was killed by his most loyal counsel, a man named Villius Ren.”

  Roxleigh bowed his head. “Most loyal, indeed,” he said. “So King Micah may well have taken the secret of me t
o his grave, then,” he said. “Though he left a letter for you.”

  “Why didn’t the Pyreboy come back and rescue you?” said Oland.

  “I don’t know,” said Prince Roxleigh. “I fear that he was killed. I always expected him to come back here, of course… that was the plan. Especially as, in his absence, his youngest brother lost his way, and he himself was sent to Curfew Peak. He would have wanted to be reunited with him.”

  “I’ve met the Pyreboys,” said Oland. “Which one is his brother?”

  “Blaise,” said Roxleigh. “The Pyreboys have real names, but, as you may have noticed, when they arrive here, they are all given names connected to fire or flame, bestowed upon them as soon as they arrive on Curfew Peak.”

  “And his brother – the Pyreboy who helped you?” said Oland.

  “I never knew his real name,” said Roxleigh, “but his Pyreboy name was Wick.”

  LAND WENT RIGID.

  “What is it?” said Roxleigh. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Oland. “But there is a Wickham who joined the ranks of The Craven Lodge, the savages who support Villius Ren. They have taken over Castle Derrington; they have destroyed Decresian.”

  “My beautiful Decresian,” said Roxleigh. Tears welled in his eyes.

  “It has become a ruin,” said Oland.

  “And Wick…” said Roxleigh. “He is still alive?”

  Oland shook his head. “He fell to his death, not long ago, at Dallen Falls.”

  “Do you mean he drowned?” said Roxleigh.

  Oland nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did you witness it?” said Roxleigh.

  “Yes,” said Oland. “Well… not exactly. I saw him disappear into the water.”

  “Wick is from Kaltoff,” said Roxleigh. “The land of rivers, the place where Chancey the Gold was born. Not one child from Kaltoff is anything but a superior swimmer. I wouldn’t put money on your Wickham not having made it out of there alive.”