The Lost Castle

by Michael Pryor

  Another arrow struck at his feet. He put a hand to the hilt of his sword, but Simangee refused to let him draw it.

  He looked at her. She stared back with eyes that were rimmed with red. Was something lurking behind them? A shadow?

  Targesh put a hand on Adalon's shoulder. 'Trust her.'

  All was still for an instant, and in that time Adalon realised that trust was what bound all three of them together. If he couldn't trust Targesh and Simangee, who could he rely on? 'We are with you, Simangee,' he said.

  Shouts and cries came from their pursuers. Adalon shepherded Simangee ahead of him. Targesh followed close behind.

  Avoiding the river of molten rock that coursed from the cave mouth, Simangee scrambled over a fall of rubble at the entrance. Adalon went next, hissing at the hot rock beneath his hands. He held his tail high to stop it being burned. Inside the cave, a path by the side of the wall led them upwards, until they were looking down on the river of fire. He choked on the smoke and fumes, and, with tears in his eyes, looked around at the cave that stretched out in front of them.

  Simangee hurried forward along the narrow, broken path. Adalon ran his hand against the smooth rock walls and realised that the cave had become a tunnel. The walls were almost glassy and reflected the red glow of the river of fire.

  As they followed Simangee, Adalon felt the heat wrapping them up like a blanket. He felt it through the soles of his feet. A huge chuffing noise came from the river of fire to their left, echoing along the tunnel. Simangee looked back, wide-eyed, and waved them onwards.

  Voices came from behind, hunting cries and screams rising over the noise. A roar of triumph went up, the grating, growling roar of a Toothed One, a roar that sounded down the ages from when the world was new. It made Adalon stop, stiffening in place. Small, he felt small, helpless and doomed. He was prey, and prey only existed to be eaten. He had no chance, no hope, nothing . . .

  'Move,' Targesh grunted. He nudged Adalon with a horn, pricking his shoulder.

  Adalon blinked and shook himself. He realised he'd experienced the power of a full-grown Toothed One. When he'd heard the roar, he'd frozen. If Targesh hadn't nudged him, he would have simply waited there to be killed.

  Adalon whirled and shook his fist at General Wargrach and his troops. Jeers and cries went up. Anger seized Adalon. I'm no soft-bellied, hairy-pelted, squeaking beast of prey! he thought. Seething, he dragged his bow from his back and launched an arrow at them, then another, then another, until Targesh took his arm. 'It's no good. Follow Sim.'

  Adalon took a deep breath and felt the anger leave him. It was foolish, standing here, trying to bring down Wargrach and his soldiers in this light. Fight, fall back, fight again, he recited to himself. The Way of the Claw.

  Adalon jogged after Simangee. Targesh lumbered alongside, struggling in the heat. His great head and neck shield began to droop. Below the path, the river of fire widened into a bright orange-white lake. The path took them up, up until they were high on the wall of the tunnel, but still the heat was fierce. They stumbled to where Simangee was waiting. Adalon felt the breath searing in his throat. 'How much further?' he croaked.

  Simangee pointed past the fiery lake. 'Look.'

  Adalon held up a hand to shield himself from the red glow. He could see something. Because of the smoke he wasn't quite sure at first, but there it was . . . light! The healthy light of outdoors!

  A fountain of molten rock burst from the lake. The three friends staggered back at the blast of heat. The plume of lava arced up until it struck the craggy ceiling overhead, where it splashed, sending red-hot globules of molten rock in all directions. Adalon ducked, but the nearest fell some distance away. He rose on his toe-claws and he wondered if the tunnel would collapse.

  Simangee gestured ahead, then hurried on. Adalon and Targesh followed. With each step, the rock grew hotter. Adalon thought he could feel his skin starting to shrivel. His tail skimmed the rock and he hissed with pain.

  'On,' grunted Targesh from behind him. 'Up.'

  The path beside the lake of fire grew yet narrower. Adalon looked down. The molten rock was alight with reds and oranges, with streamers of bright white that made his vision dance. The vast chuffing noise was even louder and he felt as if he were trapped in a giant bellows.

  Heat beat at him and he saw that the lake was heaving. Great waves surged along the lake, along the river of fire, then down toward the cave entrance. Flame and smoke leaped high, licking the ceiling of the cave.

  In a rush, they squeezed around a rocky spur and were past the lake. Light beckoned. Adalon broke into a run, yet couldn't catch Simangee. His heart felt as if it would burst as he scrambled up the slope, ignoring the pain in his hands and feet. The air began to grow thicker with smoke and he heard Targesh's throaty coughing from behind him.

  Adalon looked up and peered ahead. He could dimly see Simangee, scrambling toward the light. He dug in his claws and dragged himself after her, trying not to choke on the smoke.

  He looked up in time to see Simangee disappear. He surged forward and, suddenly, broke into open air.

  In the dim twilight, Adalon cried out in relief and sucked in lungfuls of cool air. Then Targesh stumbled out of the tunnel and ran straight into him. They both rolled onto a mat of thick, green grass, Targesh's horns gouging long furrows as he fell face first.

  Adalon sat up to see Simangee lying close to them. Her gaze was on the cave they had just left. 'The fiery lake is about to erupt. The cave will fill with molten rock before rolling out and down the mountainside. I think we got through just in time.'

  'We did?' Targesh said. He glared at the cave mouth.

  'Explorers were afraid to enter the tunnel until the A'ak discovered that the lake erupts regularly, allowing time to get through to the Hidden Valley.'

  The mountain roared. Adalon clapped his hands to his ears as he was engulfed by the noise. It was like being pummelled by a thousand fists. He rolled onto his stomach and put his hands over his head. The ground shook. Smoke and heat burst from the cave – but no molten rock came their way.

  Adalon lay there wondering when it would stop. If it would stop.

  A few minutes later, all was still again.

  Simangee sat and looked at the cave mouth. 'I don't think we have to worry about General Wargrach.'

  Fourteen

  Wargrach's head pounded with each step. He felt as if the top of his skull would fly off any minute. He staggered, fell, crawled, picked himself up and fell again, clenching his teeth to stop himself from screaming each time. Bright pain flared in his shoulder, his hip, the back of his head, his hands. His left arm hung at his side and he knew at least one of the bones was broken.

  Wargrach turned his one good eye back to Graaldon, the smoking mountain. He snarled and tried to curse it, but the words caught in his scorched throat and sent him into a spasm of coughing. He bent double and the pain from his many burns and wounds blended together into one map of agony. This time, he did scream.

  He was thankful that none of his troops had survived to hear him.

  When the pain had receded, he opened his eye and stared at the velvet of the night sky. Stars looked down on him from between clouds stained orange from the glow of the fires of Graaldon.

  The taste of defeat was sour in his mouth. In that accursed tunnel he had been close; his prey had almost been in his grasp. The youngling and his friends were nearly his.

  At that moment, when the climax of the hunt was near, the blood had beat in his veins and he had known he was a true descendant of the Toothed Ones of old. The hunt, the chase with the promise of blood in the end. That was what he was meant for, that was what the greatest saur were meant for! Great saur dominate the weak, crush those who resist, destroy all enemies, rend them with tooth and claw.

  Wargrach had surged ahead of his troops, leading them forward, an unstoppable force.

  Then the tunnel erupted.

  The sensation was vast, immense, a battering of sight, sound
, feeling. Light and heat burst on them in an outrageous assault. Wargrach felt as if he had been slapped with a white-hot sheet of iron, then he was hurled through the air. He remembered touching rock and flame at the same time, seeing a shield slump and melt, hearing shrieks from the saur around him, smelling –

  If it weren't for his secret cache of spells, he would have been lost. Blinded, he'd groped in the inner pocket of his jacket and seized the first bottle he touched. He flung it to the rocky floor and he was immediately surrounded by a protective cocoon. He knew it wouldn't last long, but for a moment the heat and noise were gone. Before he could do anything other than gasp for breath, however, a wave of molten rock picked up the cocoon. Wargrach was buffeted and rolled helplessly in the flood. Finally he was spat out of the tunnel onto the rocky slope. The cocoon dissolved and he was left staring at the cascade of lava belching from the tunnel mouth.

  He rolled over, was sick, then swooned.

  Later, lying on his bed of pain under the stars and clouds, trying to gather what little strength he had left, he finally managed to curse young Adalon of the Eastern Peaks.

  The next morning, wet with ashy dew, Wargrach struggled to his feet and lurched away from the smoking mountain.

  * * *

  Once Adalon had peered inside the cave mouth and reassured himself that their pursuers were gone, they moved a short distance away to a grassy clearing. Targesh gathered some fallen wood from nearby scrubby plants and made a fire, and the three friends prepared a meal.

  The moon was rising, huge and golden. By its light, Adalon was able to look out over the valley they had stumbled on. Adalon munched on dried meat he had in his pack. Despite being bruised and slightly toasted, he was amazed at what he saw. Welcome to the Hidden Valley, he thought.

  The valley was entirely ringed by jagged mountains. They thrust up like sharp teeth and nowhere could Adalon see a gap in them. Graaldon was the largest of them. It rumbled and smoked constantly, but the wind took the smoke away from the valley, not toward it.

  Adalon could see that the valley was narrow, barely a league from side to side. Thick woods started high up on the flanks of the mountains and spread down into the valley itself. He thought he could make out a river, snaking its way along the valley floor, and rocky outcrops pushing up through the forest.

  It was on one of these outcrops, out in the middle of the valley, that the Lost Castle stood.

  Even at this distance, and at night, Adalon could see that the Lost Castle was graceful. Its towers stood proudly, high above the valley floor. One was much taller than the other three and his gaze was drawn to it. He wondered who had lived there and what they had seen. Did they use it to study the heavens? Or was it a sentry tower to spy out enemies? He yearned to find out.

  Adalon bit off another chunk of meat and chewed it thoughtfully. 'How far away is it, Simangee?'

  Simangee looked up from the old book. The light of the campfire glittered in her eyes. 'I don't know.'

  Adalon nodded, but continued to study his friend after she turned away.

  She was still not herself, he was convinced of that. The encounter with the devil cloud had changed her.

  'Further than it looks,' Targesh said. He was eating some tree fungus he had found while gathering firewood. He broke the great plates into pieces and ate them with delicate bites of his horned beak.

  'A day's walking?' Adalon guessed.

  'Yes, but we mustn't travel in the dark,' Simangee said. She shivered.

  'Why not?'

  'Traiths and screets haunt the valley at night, or so the book says. In the dark, the A'ak travelled in armed groups. It was safest. Otherwise, they stayed around a fire.'

  Targesh snorted and thumped his tail on the ground. 'Need more wood.'

  Simangee shrugged. 'We're safe near the cave. Traiths don't like the fumes, and screets have to stay near water.'

  'Traiths? Screets? What are they?' Adalon asked. 'And what else does this book have to tell us?'

  Simangee tilted the book to get more light. 'There is no description of traiths and screets. I think we're supposed to know what they are. Just like the black lurkers the book mentions.'

  'Black lurkers?' Targesh grumbled. He looked at the trees around them with suspicion.

  'This is not altogether a happy valley, then?' Adalon said.

  'It was a refuge, a place of safety, especially once the Lost Castle was built. The beasts were a small price to pay.'

  Adalon studied the far-off towers. 'Let us get there as soon as we can.'

  Fifteen

  The next morning, Adalon woke cold and stiff. He climbed out of his bedroll and while he stretched he looked out over the valley.

  Under the blue sky, the vista looked different. Between the mountains it was like a green sea, so thick were the woods. A break in the trees showed that a river did indeed wind its way through the centre of the valley.

  The Lost Castle stood in the middle of it all, grey stone built on grey stone.

  'Beautiful,' Targesh said, nodding a horn in the direction of the castle. He was sitting with his cloak wrapped around him. He had agreed to take the last watch for the night. Adalon guessed he regretted it.

  'A quiet night?' he asked as his friend stood and stretched, tilting his neck shield from side to side. He stamped his feet and thumped his tail on the ground.

  'No traiths, screets, black lurkers.'

  'You kept the fire going well.'

  Targesh snorted and ignored him.

  Simangee rolled over. 'Is it morning?'

  Adalon studied her face. She looked exhausted. 'Yes.'

  'We should go.'

  Despite his concern, Adalon agreed. He itched to be off; he was eager to be moving again, especially with a destination in sight.

  * * *

  It was midmorning when they reached the river.

  'Fresh,' Adalon said. He crouched and scooped up a handful of water. 'Cold, too, straight from the mountains.'

  Targesh stood well back from the river, as if he were worried it was about to reach out and carry him away. Simangee leaned listlessly against a tree, her head drooping.

  Adalon stood on the bank. From the size of the river, he doubted if the valley lacked for water, even in full summer. He could see ducks, cranes and darters happily at home on the river; fish would be plentiful.

  He looked around and saw that Simangee wasn't looking at the river life. She was scraping at a tangle of creeper with a toe-claw.

  'What have you found?' Adalon asked as he joined her.

  'A road.' Simangee knelt and dragged the creeper aside. She revealed flat, well-worked stone. As more creeper was torn away, more stone showed through. 'It leads to the castle.'

  'Your book reveals this, too?'

  Simangee stood. 'The road follows the river. If we keep to it we should find the travelling easier.'

  * * *

  Adalon was cheerful as he walked next to the road. The valley was a pleasant place and it felt good to have grass underfoot after the leagues of rock they had trudged through.

  The forest was rich with oak and beech. Game fled from their approach in numbers that meant the cooking pot would never be empty. Many saur could live here, Adalon thought as a pair of rabbits scampered over a knoll and disappeared. Hundreds.

  It could be a pleasant enough place, he decided. A place to settle, to stay, far away from the troubles of the world.

  He sighed. I can't forget my vow, he thought.

  It troubled him. As he walked, he wondered if he was driven to save Thraag, or to avenge his father. The two blurred. Doing one would achieve the other, but was it right? Were his noble aims just a pretence to cover his rage? He shook his head and wished for simpler times.

  Every half a league or so, the road brought them to a clearing, at each of which they found the remains of an old farm. At the first of these, they explored the fallen-down farmhouse and outbuildings, trying to find a clue about those who had lived there. Adalon's puzzlement
grew, however, as they found little left behind. No clothes, no personal belongings, only dishes and pots and farm tools.

  Each farm did have a small reward for them. Orchards seemed to have been important, and the three friends found apples, almonds, pears and even some late peaches. They were all grateful for the addition to their diet. Even Adalon, a meat-eater, enjoyed fruit.

  Along the roadside they came across small, ruined forts. Adalon approved of the way the A'ak had sited these forts at regular distances. Good planning, he thought, and decided it was the sort of planning that was common sense to military people.

  His curiosity about the A'ak was growing.

  Sixteen

  After some hours' marching, evening began to draw in. The shadows of the mountains and the trees crept across the valley. Adalon and Targesh were alert, watching both sides of the road and keeping Simangee between them.

  Adalon clicked his claws together nervously, alive to every sound. Targesh carried his axe and stumped along holding it ready.

  The road took them on a wide curve and the river disappeared behind a wall of head-high bushes. Then the growth cleared and they could see the river again.

  All three stood and stared.

  There, on an island in the middle of the river, stood the Lost Castle.

  Adalon glanced at Targesh. He was eyeing the water with distaste. 'You go,' Targesh said. 'I'll stay here.'

  Adalon knew that getting Targesh over to the Lost Castle would be a trial. Targesh mistrusted boats, never swam, and felt that those who went to sea were mad. He was of the firm view that water was for drinking and, occasionally, bathing.

  Targesh took a step back from the bank, then another. He crossed his arms and glared at the river as if it were an old enemy just waiting for its chance to drown him.

  Adalon looked up the riverbank and saw crumbled stone pilings that led across the river toward the island. Moss turned the stonework into a patchwork of grey and green. A bird landed in a nest on top of one piling. It had a small fish in its beak. 'There was a bridge here, once,' said Adalon.