The Lost Castle

by Michael Pryor

  * * *

  Adalon's friends took him back to his room, where he wept for hours. He cried and apologised to Targesh and Simangee. Most of all, though, he cried for his father and for all the tomorrows they would not share.

  When his weeping dwindled and finally ended, Adalon was left with sorrow and loss. They had not gone away.

  Neither had the anger. Not entirely. It was there, and when he looked over the notes his father had made, he saw that he'd been right. The Queen was turning Thraag into a land of war.

  His father had written to his many friends throughout Thraag, and had documented Army movements throughout the country. Adalon's anger grew again, but this time it was measured. He had lost his father but now he realised that the saur of Thraag were in danger of losing even more. Someone had to speak out against the Queen and the generals. Someone had to stand up for the ordinary saur before they were dragged into a conflict that would result in death and destruction for many.

  * * *

  In the depths of the castle, where the foundations rested on solid bedrock, Adalon made a vow. He placed his hands on the rock and called on the land to witness his promise. He knew that this was the most binding, most sacred oath a saur could make, but he did not hesitate. He promised that he would stop Queen Tayesha and General Wargrach.

  The trembling he felt in the rock told Adalon that his vow had been witnessed and that it would endure as long as the land endured.

  Thus Adalon and his friends were set on the path to Challish, the capital of Thraag, and the Throne Hall on the day of the Ritual of Bonding.

  Three

  'You! Stop where you are!'

  The hoarse shout rang across the square. Adalon and Targesh turned to see five soldiers marching toward them. A few passers-by scurried away with frightened looks, disappearing into lanes and alleyways, one driving a pig before him.

  Adalon remembered Challish as a happy, busy place. Not anymore. Since their arrival a few hours ago, he'd seen only suspicion, fear and despair. And many, many soldiers.

  Adalon addressed the sergeant in charge, a scarred Toothed One. 'Were you talking to us?'

  The saur scowled. 'What is your business here?'

  'Our business is our affair.'

  'Provincial mudhead,' one of the other soldiers muttered, then spat on the cobblestones.

  The sergeant showed his teeth. 'Provincial mudhead or not, I think these two will do nicely. Welcome to the Army, lads.'

  Adalon narrowed his eyes. 'Leave us. We are not to be trifled with.'

  The soldiers laughed. 'Listen to him,' the sergeant said. 'Thinks he's too good for us, does he? We'll knock that sort of thinking out of him, quick smart.'

  The sergeant lurched at Adalon and swung a backhanded blow at him. With Clawed One speed, Adalon shifted to one side and tilted his head. Roaring, the sergeant missed, then staggered past, off balance. He turned. 'Teach them a lesson,' he barked at his squad.

  Targesh bellowed, lowered his great head and charged. The soldiers laughed at his ponderous stride, and one threw a handful of mud. It slapped on Targesh's impressive neck shield, and then Targesh was on them. He knocked two into a dirty pool where they floundered and cursed.

  Adalon rose on his toes, balanced on his tail for an instant and bared his teeth. Then he sprinted, leaped over them and threw himself on the remaining two. Using his momentum, he cracked one under the chin with his elbow and tripped the last with his tail. As the soldier tried to climb to his feet, Adalon kneed him behind the ear and he collapsed face first into the mud.

  Adalon swivelled and faced the sergeant, who was staring, open-mouthed. 'You call these wretches soldiers? You're just lucky my friend had his horns capped.'

  Targesh grunted and shook his horns.

  The sergeant slid his sword from its sheath. 'No-one mocks the Thraag Infantry. Bite on this, Clawed One!'

  From behind came the sound of more weapons being drawn. Adalon glanced around to see that, apart from the angry, sodden soldiers, the square was still empty. He guessed that the local citizens knew better than to linger when the military were looking for a fight. He took a step back, cursing himself for getting himself into such trouble.

  Adalon drew his sword and stood next to Targesh, who held his axe in an easy grip. Adalon was not confident. Their weapons were only ceremonial, as they had been on their way to the Ritual of Bonding. While they may have looked bright and impressive, they were poorly balanced and not meant for fighting. He wished he had his real blade, but no dangerous weapons were allowed in the Throne Hall.

  He took a deep breath and faced the soldiers. 'We wish you no harm. Let us go in peace.'

  'Peace?' the sergeant hissed. 'Peace is for weaklings! This is a time for blood and glory!'

  With a roar, he launched himself at Adalon. His comrades came after him, but the Toothed One had only taken two steps when an arrow plunged through his thigh. He pitched forward, stifling a shriek.

  A figure emerged from a lane and darted toward them, bow in hand, dropping a bag of apples. 'Simangee!' Adalon cried. 'Over here!'

  The other soldiers closed. Adalon faced a burly Plated One who swung a huge mace. He remembered the lessons his father had taught him. He did not engage with the mace. Instead, he leaned back and let it whistle past. When its weight made the Plated One overbalance, Adalon struck his wrist with the flat of his sword. With a grunt, the Plated One dropped the mace. Adalon twisted and then, with the hilt of his sword, hit his foe in the vulnerable spot under the chin. He dropped like a sack of grain.

  Adalon looked around to see that two other soldiers had been struck by arrows from Simangee's bow and were sitting on the slick cobblestones, cursing and trying to staunch their wounds. One more was lying stunned at Targesh's feet.

  Simangee trotted over. Adalon took her by the arm. 'Quickly,' he said and, together with Targesh, they fled the square, through twisted lanes and squalid alleys.

  'Thraag has fallen on bad times indeed,' Simangee said when they finally emerged in the great plaza in front of the royal palace, 'if roving gangs of bullies can accost travellers like that.'

  'They were more than bullies,' Adalon said. 'They were recruiting for the Army.' It worried him that the Army needed to go to such lengths to bolster its strength. It boded ill.

  They joined the throng moving toward the gates of the palace, but Simangee stopped just as they reached the guards. 'You go ahead, Adalon. I have a task to do.'

  'Sim? You'll miss the Ritual of Bonding.'

  She shrugged. 'Before Hoolgar went away he left me some cryptic instructions. He suggested I should look in a certain place in the Great Library of Challish. I may not have a better chance than today, when everyone is at the Ritual of Bonding.'

  Hoolgar had been a tutor and mentor to Simangee. An ancient Crested One, he was the chief musician and scholar at High Battilon. He taught all the young ones in the castle, but he had taken a special shine to Simangee. A month or so before General Wargrach's visit, Hoolgar had disappeared, leaving no word of his plans or destination.

  Simangee cocked her head. 'Targesh. Why don't you come with me?'

  Adalon's heart sank when Targesh nodded. 'Good idea.'

  They promised to meet up later, but Adalon was forlorn. Even in the middle of the crowd entering the palace, he felt alone.

  He feared he would never see his friends again. Perhaps he should have shared his plans with them, but he decided it may be better this way. He didn't want them in danger.

  * * *

  In the Throne Hall of the palace, Adalon studied the host of nobles, merchants, military and commoners assembled for the great ritual. He saw wonder on the faces of those present for the first time. They were the ones staring at the gold and silver torches, the carved wooden beams a thousand years old, the gold leaf around the tops of the marble pillars. Others were admiring the walls, where the history of the ruling Gralloch family was displayed. Shields and weapons were hanging in rows. Forbidding portraits of queen
s from centuries past loomed from on high. A giant tapestry celebrated the bloody and glorious battle of Jorgath.

  Adalon's eyes narrowed when his gaze fell on this tapestry. It showed everything the Gralloch family held dear. Gralloch warriors were crushing their enemies, slashing them into pieces with no mercy. The Gralloch family were Clawed Ones of the most warlike kind. The Way of the Claw, with its thoughtful, calm lessons, was not for them. They ignored it in favour of their own motto: Strength and Might. It was emblazoned under the tapestry, a reminder of what the Grallochs valued.

  It seemed to Adalon as if all of the kingdom was gathered in the Throne Hall – and many from other kingdoms, too. Costumes were colourful, mysterious, rich, fine or military, as varied as those who wore them. Long-necked Ones peered over the heads of the crowd, aloof and thoughtful. Crested Ones fluted greetings to each other. Billed Ones marched through the doors in swirls of multicoloured silks.

  Adalon noticed a knot of generals in bright uniforms. They obviously considered themselves better than the citizens around them; disdain was clear on their faces.

  Wrinkling his nostrils, Adalon glanced up at the incense burners on the wall. He'd never liked the heavily scented smoke. He scratched his snout with a claw and sighed. It was probably for the best that his friends were not present. He didn't want them to be involved.

  The throne that gave the hall its name was made of stone. Great-uncle Baradon had told Adalon that the stone reached right down, through the floor, thrusting deep into the earth beneath the palace. It had been here since the first queen of the Gralloch family and it had seen many queens, a long, undisturbed chain reaching back to the dawn of time. 'Made from the bones of the land,' Great-uncle Baradon had told him, years ago, when Adalon was brought to his first Ritual of Bonding. His father had been there then, tall and strong, an honoured guest.

  Adalon felt a pang, and a lesson from the Way of the Claw came to him: Do not deny sorrow – take it into your heart. He took a deep breath and the hurt faded, but not the memory.

  The throne was the heart of the land, the symbol of the bond that allowed the family of Gralloch to rule Thraag. Each queen was joined to the land, protecting and ruling it. In return, the land protected those who dwelled there, and granted the queen great magical powers. It was a mystical union, revered for eons.

  Adalon once again felt the enormity of what he was about to do.

  Great-uncle Baradon often told of the coronation of young Princess Tayesha. Her mother, the old queen, had died and when Tayesha assumed the throne the kingdom was in raptures. Feasts lasted for days, carnivals for weeks, and the joy lasted for a whole year. Great-uncle Baradon had been present at the coronation. Over an ale or two he loved to tell of the beautiful young Clawed One princess solemnly reciting the vows that wedded her to the land.

  Adalon sensed that the crowd was growing uneasy. He flexed his claws and stilled his tail, trying to quell his impatience.

  A whisper ran through the room. 'She's coming!'

  Adalon was glad he'd had a spurt of growth. It meant he could see, despite the saur in front of him: a burly Knobblonder, almost as wide as she was tall. The bony plates on her shoulders jutted up as high as the top of her head and were tipped with gold. Knobblonders loved gold and never missed a chance to display their wealth.

  A curtain parted behind the throne. Adalon heard a vast intake of breath.

  Queen Tayesha's robes were velvet, the dark grey of stormy skies. Adalon could hear the click of her claws as she walked across the polished stone floor. She paused and stood motionless a moment, head bowed, and then approached the throne.

  Adalon found it hard to believe she had become queen when his great-uncle was young. He saw the Queen's age only in a hint of loose skin at her neck where the scales were dull and tired. Her back was straight, her eyes were clear, her movements were smooth and confident. Her claws were sharpened and polished black. The only Clawed One house to rule in the seven kingdoms, the Grallochs fancied themselves as superior to the Toothed One rulers of Chulnagh, or the ponderous Long-necked priest kings of Bondorborar, or any of the other ruling families.

  His heart beat faster as the Queen surveyed her subjects. 'I stand before you,' she said, 'as your ruler and as the partner of the land.'

  The assembly relaxed at the familiar words. This ritual had been repeated countless times. To those assembled it was security and continuity, the ongoing bond with the land that sustained them.

  Adalon was in turmoil. He felt the security of the words, but he could not forget what Queen Tayesha and General Wargrach had done – and were doing – to the saur of Thraag. Can I do this? he wondered. Am I strong enough?

  The Queen placed her hands together. 'When I became the ruler of Thraag, the land became my partner. Today, I reaffirm that bond. The House of Gralloch is dedicated to preserving and maintaining the land. In return, the land of Thraag keeps and nourishes us. As it was, and will be.'

  'As it was, and will be.' The hall echoed with the mass response. The bass rumbles from the throats of Plated Ones and Horned Ones, the nasal flutings of the Crested Ones, the booming of the Long-necked Ones – all combined to create a chorus that was the sound of the saur people.

  'At the dawn of time, the ancestors of the saur were creatures of gigantic size and limited intellect,' the Queen continued. 'As the ages passed, the saur changed, grew smaller, grew wiser, with hands and bodies that could use their larger brains, until we became the saur of today. As it is, and will be.'

  'As it is, and will be.'

  The Queen sat and Adalon gathered himself. He could delay no longer. He went to confront her.

  Four

  Adalon headed toward the front, and a murmur ran through the assembly like wind through treetops. He ignored startled looks as he made his way past priests, soldiers and nobles. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder; he shrugged it off and heard an astonished hiss. His passage grew easier as those around stepped back, alarmed but not willing to interfere. Soon, he had reached the front rank of the assembly.

  Adalon tapped a Billed One noble on the shoulder. She grunted and turned, which allowed Adalon a gap to squeeze through. The noble looked puzzled, then thoughtful, but before she could say anything, Adalon had passed.

  He stood in front of the throne. He took a deep breath, lifted his head and met the gaze of Queen Tayesha.

  'Hold,' she said to the guards. They had been surging toward Adalon, but at the Queen's words they stood aside, reluctantly.

  The Queen studied Adalon with eyes like dark moons. She bared her teeth. 'In ten thousand years, no-one has interrupted the Ritual of Bonding.'

  Adalon bowed. 'Your Majesty, I have no choice.'

  'Who are you, youngling?'

  'Adalon of the Eastern Peaks, Your Majesty. Lord Ollamon's son.'

  'Ah. Lord Ollamon.' The Queen held up a claw. 'You are a loyal subject of mine, I hope, Adalon of the Eastern Peaks?'

  'I am a loyal subject of Thraag, Your Majesty.'

  Queen Tayesha frowned. 'You are like your father, Adalon, but you are young. Very young. Tread carefully, I advise you.'

  'I am old enough to know my duty, Your Majesty.' He took a deep breath. 'Your Majesty, you cannot proceed with the ritual. You must leave the throne of Thraag.'

  A chorus of gasps and expressions of shock came from the assembly. A dozen of the nearest saur rushed forward, tails swinging, claws grasping for the upstart.

  'Hold,' Queen Tayesha said again. Although soft, her voice cut through the uproar. The saur stumbled to a halt, robes swirling, armour clashing. Adalon stood untouched and alone.

  Queen Tayesha studied Adalon. He knew that his future was being weighed. 'There is much you do not understand, Adalon of the Eastern Peaks,' she said and then addressed the assembly. 'Let him go. He is touched by grief; he knows not what he does.'

  Adalon stood firm, hoping against hope that he could dissuade the Queen from her plans. 'Your Majesty, you must not continue with the ritual. You
r preparations for war against our friends in Callibeen show that you are not fit to rule.'

  Uproar again. Shouts, shock and dismay, cries of 'No!' and 'Shame!' This time Adalon was seized from behind. He tore free and staggered toward the Queen.

  Queen Tayesha held up a hand. Magic danced on her claws, harsh silver light, and the crowd hushed. 'Young Adalon has come into some news, it seems,' she said. 'I had thought to announce my plans after the ritual, but I shall tell you all now.'

  She placed both hands on the rough arm rests and bowed her head for a moment. When she looked up her eyes were fierce, blazing with power. 'I have ruled this land for sixty years. Thraag has known plenty and safety.'

  The assembly gave a subdued cheer, but Adalon saw puzzled expressions on the faces around him. The Ritual of Bonding had never gone this way before.

  Queen Tayesha stabbed a claw at the assembly. 'But when I'm gone? Will there ever be such a time again?'

  This time, the response was heartier. 'No!' roared the crowd.

  She nodded. 'I have no heir, as you know. What can I do to ensure the future of Thraag?' She raised both hands and the glow of power shone on her claws. 'I will not let this bond be broken, this land grow ill and my saur suffer.'

  Queen Tayesha stood. Light rippled on her hands, flaring on the tips of her claws, and Adalon had to shade his eyes against the bright silver fire. This was the power he'd dared to confront? He cursed himself for being a fool.

  'There is a way to keep the bond,' the Queen said, 'to hold Thraag together. Ancient texts have told me that I can endure. I can endure and the bond can survive. Thraag can have a queen who never dies!'

  Adalon's jaw dropped. It was worse than he'd thought. She's gone mad.

  Queen Tayesha stood tall, proud and beautiful, a ruler who held the power of the land and the adoration of her saur people. 'The texts have told me: if one saur can rule all seven kingdoms, Krangor can be united under a single, immortal ruler. All Krangor will be as one, the land bonded to one ruler. Thraag will dominate all!'

  Adalon straightened. His voice rose over the assembly, clear and strong. 'I hear your words, Queen Tayesha. They sing a song of war, invasion and conquest. I hear death, and loss, and ruin. I see ordinary folk butchered and carrion eaters growing fat on fields of battle.'