by Tony Abbott
“There they are — ” cried Neal.
A pair of pilkas tied to a small cart was galloping wildly along the winding riverbank. In the cart sat Sparr, shrouded and hunched over as if asleep, and Galen, snapping the reins and prodding the pilkas to go faster.
Hundreds of Ninns, some riding horned beasts, others charging on foot, pursued the two sons of Zara along the riverbank.
Galen fired back, sending short streams of pale blue sparks at the red-faced attackers. But the Ninns were steadily gaining on the cart.
“Bad Ninns!” cried Julie. “Gethwing must have lured them with his power.”
“Max, can you distract them?” asked Keeah. “Lead them away from the cart when I blast.”
“Aye aye!” Max wiggled its fringes, and the carpet swooped between the reeds, then arched up behind the Ninns as Keeah sprayed sizzling sparks.
Blam! Blam!
The Ninns whirled around and began firing flaming arrows at the carpet.
Neal and Julie leaned from side to side, dodging the arrows, as Keeah aimed her fingers and sent a stream of hot violet sparks at the Ninns, scattering them.
As the carpet zoomed overhead, Neal blew a cloud of bad-smelling fog onto the clumsy warriors, causing them to stop in their tracks, cough wildly, and, finally, to flee.
Galen slowed the cart till it stopped. “Thank you, friends! Our red-faced enemies have left for the moment, but Gethwing continues to draw every evil creature to his cause — oh, my brother!”
Sparr suddenly sank to the floor of the cart, gasping for breath.
“Brother, are you all right?” asked Galen, kneeling next to him.
Sparr nodded. “I am. And you?”
“For now,” said the bearded wizard.
It was touching to see the two brothers, who had been enemies for so long, so concerned about each other. But Keeah sensed in their words a trace of something larger and more dangerous to come.
Sparr had aged since his time in the Underworld. He was old, blind, weak, and nearly powerless.
But his spirit, Keeah knew, was strong.
For now.
As Keeah gazed at the two brothers, she noticed that Galen was clutching a tiny swatch of fabric. It was orange, with silvery threads running through it.
When the old wizard saw Keeah looking at it, he hid it away in the depths of his cloak.
The spider troll cleared his throat. “If Zorfendorf is too far and the plains not safe from the old Goll magic, I think … I think there is only one place to hide. Lubalunda!”
“Where’s that?” asked Neal.
Galen shook his head. “The spider troll village? No, no. It has escaped war for so long. Let us find another place. We risk bringing violence into the home of peaceful people.”
Max stepped up to his lifelong friend. “I know my people. They would invite us into their hilltop sanctuary if they knew we had no choice. My people will defend us no matter the cost. Trust me. Let’s head for the hills!”
No matter the cost. The words startled Keeah. She dreaded thinking about what the cost would be.
“It’s been many years, but I still know the way,” said Max. “Shall we go?”
Galen looked at Sparr, then at the children. “And so we see the nobility and bravery of the spider troll people. Max, lead us into your secret mountain home. We will go, but will stay for only a short time.”
Max nodded. “To the mountains of Saleef!”
Together, Neal, Julie, and Max righted the cart. Keeah led the pilkas to the river to drink.
Moments later, the little band was hurrying across the plains as quickly as they could. Soon they spotted sheer cliffs of rose-colored stone appearing in the dusty distance.
“Lubalunda is up there?” asked Neal. “How do we climb up those cliffs?”
“We don’t!” said Max. “To the untrained eye, the entrance to Lubalunda cannot be found. That’s why my old home has remained hidden for so many years. If you climb for it, you shall never find it. There is a secret way up the foothills to the peak, but you must know the road to take. And I do! So follow!”
As they galloped through the pink foothills, Keeah remembered the strange men helping Prince Ungast at the treasure fortress.
“Sparr,” she said. “Ungast stole your car.”
“It was a total wreck,” said Neal. “Sorry.”
The sorcerer’s brow wrinkled. “My old car! Wreck or not, if the boy restores it, he can do much damage. That car was with me for a long time. It knows me. I am a part of it.”
“We also saw three ugly creatures,” Julie said. “They were tall and thin with rough skin, and they didn’t speak. Ungast called them Kindus.”
“I know them,” said Sparr, shaking his head gravely. “Kindu warriors were special troops in Goll. They were ruthless and clever. But one thing they did better than all others.”
“What?” asked Keeah.
“They are hunters,” said the old sorcerer. “They have senses far more powerful than a human or even a wizard. What they seek, they find. Always.”
Julie shared a look with Keeah and Neal. “They took things from the treasure fortress. A weird spiked ball. A dagger.”
“And silver boots,” said Neal. “I remember because they’d look really cool with my turban.”
“Hold on,” said Max suddenly. He stopped the cart beneath a section of rock that looked like any other. He descended, and with a wink and a nod, he pressed on the rock with both hands. Floomp! — it flipped around, and he was gone.
“Where’d he go?” asked Neal.
“In here!” Max called from the other side of the rock. “Come in. Come in.”
The children, Galen, and Sparr pressed the rock one by one and entered … the tallest peak of the mountain.
The thickest, tallest trees they had ever seen grew straight up from a rolling grassy plain. The trees seemed to reach up to the very summit of the mountain, which was open to the sky.
“Behold the village of Lubalunda!” said Max.
Lubalunda was a network of tiny green houses built on the ground and in the trees and connected by bridges made of trembling spider silk.
Because Lubalunda was in the heart of the Pink Mountains of Saleef on the eastern edge of the free part of Droon, one could see from its summit nearly the whole countryside, from the Dust Hills of Panjibarrh in the south to the crest of Silversnow in the north, to the edge of the Dark Lands in the smoky east.
When a breeze blew through the trees, the village of bridges quivered with a gentle music all its own.
“Behold my home!” said Max, looking proudly at his birthplace. “It’s been far too long since I’ve been here. I wonder if anyone remembers me —”
“Look, everyone! It’s Max!” cried a voice.
Another voice called, “Max has returned!”
“I guess they do,” said Keeah, smiling.
All of a sudden, the tiniest spider troll the children had ever seen swung down on a cord of spider silk. He plopped down next to them, gazing at Max in awe. “Are you … Uncle Maximilian?” he said.
Julie gasped. “Uncle?”
Neal gasped. “Maximilian?”
Max’s eyes widened. “Are you Feodor?”
“I am!” squeaked the tiny spider troll.
Max puffed up his chest. “Yes, nephew. I am Maximilian, back after long years in the world outside. These people are the wizards Galen and Sparr, the princess Keeah, and my dear friends Julie and Neal, and we need a place to hide!”
“Come right this way!” said another little troll with bright yellow hair, bowing till his head touched the ground. “This way!”
Soon the entire village was alive with cheers of welcome.
There were many spider trolls whose hair, while standing straight up like Max’s, had turned completely white. There were others who were the tiniest babies, with sprouts of orange, yellow, and even blue hair on the tops of their heads. They surrounded Max and showered him with greetings and questi
ons.
Out marched one old spider troll with silver hair, a wide blue sash, and a badge on his jacket. He was older than the rest, and he limped through the crowd, leaning on a cane as he walked.
“Mayor Tibble!” said Max, bowing low. “I am honored.”
“Welcome, all,” said Mayor Tibble.
“We seek shelter,” said Galen. “For now.”
“And you shall have it,” said Mayor Tibble. “Join me in my tree tower. It offers the best view!”
As the band of friends worked their way up to the mayor’s tree tower, Keeah noticed that Galen’s eyes were downcast, and he was fingering the orange cloth she’d seen before.
Something is happening, she thought. Galen is worried. Very worried.
As they entered the tree tower, Keeah gazed out over the Dark Lands. She sensed Gethwing’s forces moving closer by the minute. Perhaps even Ungast himself was among them.
How long she and her friends would be safe was a question she could not answer.
As the three groggles dived through swirling plumes of smoke into the Dark Lands, Prince Ungast gazed out of his balloon. Two ominous mountains of black stone lay below. Between them was a third peak, taller than the others but nearly hidden by the black fog.
“So,” he said to himself, “that’s Babblebrain?”
It wasn’t.
It was Barrowbork, Gethwing’s hideout, a monstrous crag of stone that rose straight up from the ashen earth.
At its summit stood a large, flat clearing bounded by a tangled forest of rock formations that crisscrossed one another to form a menacing dome.
“How ugly,” Ungast said. “In an ugly sort of way, I mean.”
Ugly or not, Barrowbork was alive with activity. Funnels of black smoke and orange flame poured from a big stone furnace that stood in the clearing.
The prince knew that this was the magic forge Gethwing had told him about when they’d left Samarindo.
Ungast smiled to himself. Before long, he would be using the forge.
He pulled the balloon ropes above him and descended. Moments later, the crumpled yellow car settled with a thud near the forge. The basket landed next to it.
The three voiceless Kindu warriors who had helped him at the treasure fortress swooped down beside him. Meanwhile, a troop of plump, red-faced Ninns stumbled over. They stood staring in awe at the yellow car. They seemed to know it instantly as their former leader’s.
“Bring it to the forge,” Ungast said. “Time is wasting.”
“Yes, Prince Ungast!” said the Ninns.
The dark prince watched the red-faced warriors unchain the crumpled wreck and haul it to a giant anvil that stood outside the furnace.
The Ninns backed away, not taking their eyes off of the car.
“It’s special to you, isn’t it?” said Ungast. “It was Sparr’s. I know that. He was once a pretty wicked guy, but now he’s old and powerless, right?”
A low, throaty laugh came from a ledge of twisted stone coiling over the summit. Atop it sat the giant dragon himself, his wings folded behind him.
“The Ninns hold a place in their hearts for the old Sparr,” Gethwing rasped. “And for his car. Which forms a part of my plan. As do you yourself, Prince Ungast.”
“Me? Really?” said the prince. “You’re going to have to tell me more about this plan of yours sometime.”
“Oh, I shall!” said the dragon.
I bet you shall, thought Ungast. You don’t trust me, do you? Well, maybe … you shouldn’t.
“No matter how damaged Sparr’s car may look, the Ninns are still in awe of it,” said the dragon. “Do you know why?”
Ungast shrugged. “They like junk?”
“Because it contains part of the soul of its creator,” said the dragon. “And once it’s repaired, that soul will help you find something I need. Something only it knows how to find.”
“Wow, a car with a soul,” said Ungast. “It won’t talk back to me, will it?”
Gethwing made that face again. “You are a funny boy,” he said.
“Maybe I’m a comedian,” said Ungast. “Maybe that’s what I was before I became Ungast, Prince of Power.”
The dragon said nothing.
Am I bothering you? the boy wondered.
But the car did interest him. He felt the power of someone’s soul in it, all right, even though it didn’t look like much at that moment.
Crouching on his heels, he ran his hands over the twisted metal. Then he lay on his back and looked at it from underneath. He kicked the ragged, airless tires.
Finally, he turned to Gethwing. “I can fix it by nightfall. If no one bothers me. And you might want to find another place to roost. It’s going to be hot and loud up here.”
“Very well,” said Gethwing, making one of those unattractive smiles. “Proceed!”
Flapping his four wings loudly, the dragon removed himself to a perch farther away.
Ungast wiggled his fingers, drew in a deep breath, and took up a hammer that lay next to the anvil.
He paused.
He could see that face everywhere, the bearded one. In wisps of smoke. In a momentary shadow. In the folds and shiftings of his mind. And the odd thing was, the more Ungast looked at the car, the more he knew exactly how to fix it. As if a voice were telling him. Hammer here, not there. Work from below. Careful of the silver pipes.
He tried to clear his mind. He was part of Gethwing’s plan now. He’d rule an army. And he’d get a crown.
“Ungast?” said the dragon impatiently.
“I’m starting!” Using both hands, he aimed the hammer at the front bumper and swung it down with all his might.
Clank-ank-ank!
The sound bounced off the surrounding stone and buffeted the air like thunder. His arms tingled with power as the hammer struck the car. Over and over, he pounded.
Clank! Wham! Clank-ank-ank!
One hour. Two hours without stopping. Ungast battered away at the metal unceasingly, as if possessed, smoothing, reworking, turning, hammering — all according to the vision of the vehicle in his mind. Meanwhile, Gethwing surveyed the land below with his powerful, all-seeing eyes.
“I love to view my world from on high,” Gethwing said finally. “Everything is so …” He trailed off, then made a low, hissing noise.
Ungast stopped hammering. “What’s wrong? Are you losing air, or do you see something?”
“The wizards have escaped the Ninn riders. They have vanished,” Gethwing said. “I can guess where they’ve gone. Lubalunda.”
“Loobyloony?” said Ungast.
“Lubalunda,” the dragon repeated, “is the legendary village of the spider trolls, long hidden in the mountains of Saleef and nearly impossible to find.”
“So?” said Ungast.
“So,” said the dragon, “my plan is working. Zello’s armies are scattered to the four corners of Droon. My enemies are in hiding. And the crown begins to take shape.”
“What crown?” asked Ungast.
“My Crown of Wizards,” said the dragon. “In my crown there are several jewels. One of the jewels is you. Another is me. The third is an old friend. Together our crown will be unbreakable.”
Ungast thought of the bearded face. “Who’s the old friend? Someone I know?”
“Not yet, but take a look,” said Gethwing. “She is coming right now.”
“Here?” said Ungast. “To Butterball?”
“Barrowbork!” Gethwing snarled.
Chuckling, Ungast set down the hammer and leaped up to the summit. From there, he saw a tiny caravan crawling across the distant sands. At its head was a dark-haired girl in a red tunic and black boots. She was arguing with the troop of red-faced Ninns accompanying her.
“Stylish,” he said. “And snotty. Is she bad?”
“Worse than bad, I hope,” said the dragon. “She is Neffu, the dark side of Princess Keeah, much as you are … a dark prince.”
Keeah? thought the boy. She was the girl at
the fortress, wasn’t she? But you were going to say something else, weren’t you, Gethwing? Neffu is her dark side like I am the dark side of … who? This Eric Hinkle kid? Is that who?
“Neffu is a witch as powerful in her own way as the princess is in hers,” said Gethwing. “With her arrival, my plan begins to weave itself together. Like a tapestry of evil!”
A wingwolf flew to Gethwing’s perch and whispered in the dragon’s ear.
“Tell him to enter,” said the dragon.
As the wingwolf flew off, Gethwing narrowed his eyes at Ungast. “How much longer before the car is complete?”
“It’s nearly done,” said Ungast, taking up the hammer again. He resumed his work.
But even as the forge’s flames rose and he pounded out the last of the car’s deep dents, Prince Ungast felt a chill cross the mountaintop. He turned to see a tall, faceless creature move toward him. The thing was more like fog than a man, but more like a man than a beast.
“Ungast, meet one of your new army,” said the dragon. “An army of wraiths, some of the most ruthless of all magical creatures.”
Ungast steeled himself to look at the space where the creature’s face should have been. It was cold and blank and smooth. The wraith knelt and bowed to him. The creature was frightening, no doubt. But a part of Ungast felt proud to be its leader.
“Up, wraith,” he said boldly.
Gethwing moved his claw through the air. “And there are his brothers. Your army.”
The boy stepped to the edge of the summit and saw thousands upon thousands of wraiths covering the plains below.
“Are you happy now?” asked the dragon.
“I am,” said Ungast. “I am.”
But it was a lie.
Ungast wasn’t happy.
He liked the idea of a huge army, of ruling a vast land, but every time his mind wandered, he saw faces in the dark corners of his memory. What, after all, had happened before the battle in Samarindo? What was his life like before two days ago?
His heart thudded in his chest. His eyes blurred for an instant as if he would faint. The face. The long white beard.
He stole a look at the car once more, and it finally came to him.