'Adalon!' Targesh waved with one hand, a measure of his growing confidence. 'Ride with me!'
Adalon waved back and shook his head, laughing. 'I have other things to do, Targesh.'
Such as plan what we're going to do next, he thought. Absently, he patted his pockets. One held the magic pipe and another held the set of magic keys. Once they had found that the brass beasts only needed a key to be summoned to life, Adalon had decided to keep the keys together. He'd never carried so much enchantment in his life.
He waved again to Targesh, then turned and went back into the room he had made his own.
They were safe. Adalon knew this should have been enough to make him happy, but it wasn't. A single day in the Lost Castle and he was chafing, looking for an outlet for his Clawed One energy.
He could leap down and run around the courtyard. He shook away that idea. It would only make things worse. It would make the Lost Castle seem like a prison, not a refuge. What good is running if bound by walls?
Adalon walked to the other balcony and gazed across the wall and over the river. The trees were deep and green, beckoning to him.
He knew he could swim the river, then run through the forest, feeling his muscles work and enjoying the wind on his face. He could weave between trees, leap fallen trunks and race through the countryside, head down, tail outstretched for balance.
He sighed. Fun though that may be, he would still be in the Hidden Valley, hemmed in by mountains. He belonged outside.
He had riches enough now, but how was he to use them to fulfil his vow? Where does one go to buy an army? he thought, and he idly scratched his name on the balcony with one claw. What is the first step?
Metallic clanking and Targesh's grunts of satisfaction made Adalon think of the armoury. He took the magical keys from his pocket and looked at them, feeling their magic. In such a short time, they had found so much. What else could be hidden in such a place? The castle may hold something that would be of more immediate use against Queen Tayesha.
But at what cost? a voice whispered at the back of his mind.
Adalon bowed his head, deep in thought. He heard his father. 'Wisdom comes in knowing when to act, and when to build strength. Watch, listen, and learn before acting.'
He knew that three young saur were no match for the might of Thraag, even with the riches they had found. The desire to fulfil his vow burned inside him, but he knew that the time for taking action was not now. This was the time to gather themselves, find allies, explore the wonders of the Lost Castle. Strike when ready, not when rushed. Let not the hot blood rule the mind, the Way of the Claw advised.
Adalon nodded, his course clear. Wait, plan, then move with care and stealth. Build strength gradually. Strike when ready.
It was not the course his heart desired, but it was the course that his head said was right.
He glanced at the door and wondered where Simangee was. She had walked her riding beast to the courtyard, but after laughing at Targesh's performance she'd left to explore on her own.
Adalon looked up at the sun. It was nearly midday.
'Canter, steed! Canter!' Targesh's voice echoed from the courtyard. Adalon smiled at his friend enjoying himself so much.
A noise made him turn. Simangee stood in the doorway, shaking, her eyes wide. 'It's begun,' she said, then collapsed.
'Targesh!' Adalon shouted. He thrust the keys into his pocket and hurried to Simangee's side.
Adalon had carried Simangee to her bed by the time Targesh appeared. 'Is she all right?'
'I don't know. Can you get her some water?'
'Aye. Root broth, too.'
'Good.'
Simangee opened her eyes soon after Targesh left. 'I found the chamber of power.' She swallowed and grimaced. 'The book said it would be in a tower. It took me time to find which one.'
'The chamber of power,' Adalon repeated. What was taking Targesh so long?
'Where the A'ak made most of their magic. It has many, many bottles of magic potions. And looking glasses right around the walls.'
'Mirrors?'
'More than mirrors. Through them the A'ak could see what was happening outside this valley. They could spy on all the seven kingdoms.'
'Oh.' Adalon sat up straighter.
'I could not control the mirrors. Their focus swooped and roamed, and would not go where I commanded.' She closed her eyes and tears leaked from them. 'I wanted to find Hoolgar.'
Adalon knew that Simangee respected the old scholar, but until now he had not realised how much. With all the seven kingdoms to see, she had first tried to look for the saur who had taught her.
Her eyes sprang open. 'Sleeto, Adalon, do you remember Sleeto?'
'Yes. Of course.' Adalon's fears for Simangee were renewed. Why was she talking of their childhood playground? Was she delirious?
'The Queen is sending troops to Sleeto. The construction of the great fortress is to begin in earnest. They mean to enslave the villagers and once the citadel is made, the invasion of Callibeen will be launched.'
Adalon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
Simangee lifted herself up and grabbed Adalon's arm. Her eyes were blazing. 'We must stop them, Adalon.'
She crumpled to the bed.
Adalon stroked her forehead for a moment. Targesh arrived. 'Asleep?' he asked, concern plain on his broad face.
Simangee opened her eyes. 'No. I feel like my bones are made of rubber.'
'The cost of magic,' Adalon muttered. 'Weakness? A small price, this time.'
Simangee nodded and rubbed her crest. 'I will recover. I must.' She looked urgently at Adalon. 'You know what we have to do, don't you?'
Targesh looked from Adalon to Simangee, then back again. 'What is it?'
Adalon told his friend of what Simangee had seen.
Targesh frowned. 'We must save Sleeto.'
'How?' Adalon said. 'What can we do?' He sprang to his feet. 'I want to stop the Queen from destroying not just Sleeto, but all of Thraag – and the other saur nations. If we ride out now, what will we achieve? Quick deaths. We must wait, build our strength, strike when we are strong.'
'Sleeto, Adalon,' Simangee said. 'We must help them.'
Targesh looked at him. 'Loyalty to the herd.' He grunted. 'They're our friends.'
Adalon gazed at both of them, his comrades since childhood. They had saved him from prison and the clutches of Queen Tayesha. They had risked their lives to help him. Now they were asking him to help others. They were selfless – not thinking of their own plight – and it shamed him. They had put his welfare ahead of their own, without complaint and without reproach.
A great truth came to him: sometimes, instead of doing the best thing, one had to do the right thing.
It was not a lesson from the Way of the Claw. Its wisdom had the clarity of the old lessons, but it did not belong in their litany. Where did it come from?
In a moment of insight, he understood it came from within.
'Look after her.' Adalon took the magical keys from his pocket. 'I won't be long.'
Simangee's eyes flew open. 'No! We must all go!'
'Hush,' said Targesh. 'Quiet now.'
'No,' Simangee said. 'We must present ourselves to the cabinet together.'
'Cabinet?' Targesh asked Adalon.
'In the armoury. More magic.'
'Ah.' He looked at Simangee. 'I'll carry you.'
'I can walk,' she said, but when she tried to stand, she stumbled and almost fell.
Targesh put her arm around his shoulder. 'Walk with me.'
Simangee half-smiled. 'All right. A little. But I'm already feeling stronger.'
Twenty-two
Adalon stood with his friends in front of the iron cabinet. Simangee looked uncertain, but Targesh sniffed the scent of oil and metal in the armoury. His eyes were bright and keen as his gaze roamed over the racks of weapons.
'Three of us,' Adalon said. 'Three of us against a kingdom. But great oaks grow from small acorns.'
He fitted the iron key into the keyhole and turned it without hesitating. He seized both handles and flung the doors open.
Simangee sighed. Targesh's eyes went wide. Adalon clenched his hands and felt claws bite into his palms.
The cabinet was larger inside than it was outside, stretching into a distance that was lost in haze. Adalon looked again. It wasn't right. The interior of the cabinet was twisted, not square. No, that wasn't it. It was tilted, just a little. He shook his head. That wasn't it either. He turned away for a moment. It hurt his eyes if he looked too long. A smell like hot sand made his nostrils ache.
'Hrmph!' Targesh stamped his feet and snorted. 'More magic.'
'Oh yes,' Simangee said. She rubbed her hands together, and Adalon thought she looked like a youngling gazing at a table laden with sweet pastries. True to her word, it seemed she had recovered from her collapse.
Adalon stepped into the cabinet. To his left were racks of armour. On the right were shields and swords. He looked from side to side. The first armour was plate, made of sky blue metal. On the opposite side of the cabinet was a matching blue shield and sword.
Next in line was green banded armour, the same glittering colour as emeralds. A green shield and a green axe stood opposite.
The third was ruby-red chain mail, with a red shield and a red bow.
After that the arms and armour were grey and shadowy. Adalon reached out for the fourth set but pulled his hand back, hissing. Something stopped his claws, something both hot and cold, burning his skin.
'Green,' Targesh said, rubbing his nose horn. 'I like green.'
'Are you sure it's yours?' Adalon asked.
Targesh smiled and pointed at the green armour, neatly laid out. 'No helmet.'
Adalon nodded. Of course a Horned One would need no helmet. Besides, the green armour looked a perfect fit for Targesh's burly frame.
'The magic has sorted us out,' Simangee said. 'The red bow is mine, I'd imagine. And the red armour.' She lifted the red bow and a curiously designed helmet. It had a cunning hinge that allowed it to fit neatly around Simangee's bony crest. She then drew up a telescoping series of scales. Simangee held out her hands. 'See?'
The ruby-red armour made Simangee look like an exotic bird. Adalon smiled.
He lifted the sky-blue helmet and settled it over his head. It was light, hardly any weight at all. Even though the eyeholes were mere slits, Adalon could see as well as if he wasn't wearing a helmet at all.
'No-one would know who you are,' Simangee said, and her voice came unmuffled to Adalon. 'You look like a hero from the clouds.'
'From legend,' Targesh said, and his words made Adalon shiver.
He turned his head to the left and to the right. The helmet did not impede him in any way. It felt as if he had been wearing it all his life.
'Ready yourselves,' he said. 'We ride to Sleeto.' Adalon seized the sword. Without thinking, he swung it at a nearby bench. All his worry and his frustration were behind the swing, but he was still stunned when the bench was cloven in two.
He held up the sword and stared at it. Targesh clapped him on the back and grinned. 'Powerful magic.'
Adalon only hoped that the cost for such power would not be more than they could pay.
Twenty-three
The great brass riding beasts bounded through the gates of the castle with the clashing of metal. When they reached the river, they stopped.
'Do you have the pipe?' Simangee asked Adalon.
He took it from a pouch on his belt. If the magic is useful, I can endure the pain, he decided. He lifted his visor, and blew on the pipe.
A noise like a high-pitched whine set Adalon's teeth on edge, but that was all – and it soon disappeared. No visions came to him. He shook himself and urged his steed over the solid water.
When they reached the perilous exit from the Hidden Valley, Adalon held up a claw. With a clatter like a band putting down their instruments, the riding beasts came to a halt. 'Simangee. As soon as the mountain finishes its roaring, we can pass?'
'Yes. But we mustn't linger.'
The riding beasts were not frightened by the smell of burning rock or the jets of fire. Their clashing hoofs struck sparks as they raced through the tunnel and out onto the mountain's flank.
Adalon's breath was whipped away as they surged down the slope of Graaldon. Behind him he heard Targesh whooping with delight.
The brass riding beasts were tireless. Heading north-east, they galloped through the stony plain, through the grasslands, through the dark forest and through the wild countryside, faster than Adalon had ever gone before. Birds scattered in front of them and wildlife fled. Adalon felt like an arrow in flight as he rode low, eyes squinting against the wind.
After hours of riding, they burst through trees and startled a party of woodcutters. The woodcutters stared open-mouthed at the mirror-bright armour and the metal steeds. Adalon and his companions hurtled through the clearing and vanished into the forest beyond.
The day flew by as the great brass steeds ate up miles with their strides. Adalon rode grimly, his two friends flanking him. He wondered if he should halt to rest, but the determination on the faces of Simangee and Targesh pushed him on. They followed streams and rivers, fording where they could. They rode around villages and hamlets, setting watch beasts barking. They rode on and on.
The mountains called to them, the great ragged Skyhorn Ranges, the border between Thraag and the eastern kingdoms of Callibeen, Shuff and Chulnagh. Perched high in the clouds was Sleeto, the sole pass through the mountains.
Finally, in the broad late afternoon, they came to the foothills and the main road from Challish. It was a dusty trail, barely wide enough for a heavy wagon. It wound its way through woods and up into the heights.
Adalon reined in his great brass steed. He pushed up his visor as his friends circled around him. They all stretched tired muscles. Staunch, brave Targesh was solemn. Simangee looked weary but determined. Good friends, both of them, Adalon thought. Yet here he was about to take them into battle where they could be killed . . .
'We must do this,' Simangee said before Adalon could speak. 'How could we not?'
'Yes,' Targesh said. 'Resist. Defend. Repel. The Way of the Horn.'
In that moment Adalon knew that this friendship was worth all the treasure in the Lost Castle. He slammed down his visor. 'Now, let us ride to Sleeto!'
The road rose steeply. It switched back and forth again and again as it took them toward the gap between the two great peaks. The brass steeds climbed without complaint.
At last, a turn and over a rise, and Adalon held up a hand. Targesh and Simangee reined in close behind him, waiting, silent.
Adalon cocked his head to listen. The sounds of metal on metal came echoing off the mountainside. Shouts and screams mingled with the clangour.
'What is it, Adalon?' Simangee asked, her visor raised.
'Battle. Troops are at Sleeto.'
Targesh sniffed. 'Smoke.'
Adalon urged his steed forward. Together, the three friends thundered along the road to Sleeto.
Twenty-four
Sleeto lay in a small valley. For centuries it had seen travellers and merchants passing from Thraag to Callibeen and beyond. The inn of Sleeto was famous, with beer made from fresh mountain water. It was a peaceful, pretty place and Adalon, Targesh and Simangee had spent many happy times there.
But this day, happiness was a stranger. Adalon stared in horror at the scene below them. Smoke rose from burning buildings, and troops on riding beasts wheeled back and forth.
He could see that the attackers were a light force, barely twenty soldiers. Plenty to deal with such a tiny village in the mountains. The commander hadn't reckoned, however, on the fierce pride of the mountain saur. They hadn't gone peacefully with the troops. They had resisted. At least one soldier was lying face down near one of the houses. But the villagers had fared much worse than the soldiers. Strewn around the small town were what appeared at first glanc
e to be motionless bundles of rags – Adalon shuddered when he realised what they were.
The soldiers were circling the inn, the largest building in the town. The shutters were closed and Adalon knew the villagers would have retreated there for safety.
Adalon drew his sword. Simangee had her bow in hand and had already nocked an arrow. Targesh hefted his axe. Without a word, they plunged toward the troops.
As they raced closer, Simangee released an arrow, then another. In an instant, she had half a dozen ruby-red shafts speeding toward the attackers.
Adalon and Targesh roared. They whirled their weapons and fell on the soldiers.
Simangee's shafts had already sown confusion in the troops. When they saw three mirrored warriors on steeds of brass, they began to panic. They tried to turn their riding beasts to face these new foes, but some went one way, some another. Riding beasts reared, spilling riders; some galloped off despite the cursing of the soldiers.
Before the troops could order themselves, Adalon and Targesh were on them.
Adalon was grim as he dealt with them. It gave him no pleasure, no joy. When he remembered the vision he had had of the A'ak, and the terrible aftermath of battle where death was the only victor, any excitement withered in his chest.
His sword was light in his hand, slashing and hacking, dancing like a sky-blue flame. It split shields and shattered swords. The eyes of Adalon's foes showed terror as he hewed his way through them. They fell back, trying to avoid him.
Targesh was alongside, bellowing and swinging the great green axe as if it were a straw. Any unfortunates who came close enough were flung aside with a toss of his mighty horns.
The brass riding beasts were deadly. They kicked and bit and trampled, clanging with the sound of a giant's foundry.
All around, Simangee's arrows buzzed like angry red wasps, each finding a target. Adalon felt one hum past as he struck at a rangy Toothed One. It was as if a crimson flower suddenly sprouted in the saur's chest. He fell backward.
In the middle of the battle, Adalon raised his head and saw a crooked figure on a ridge nearby. He tried to see the figure more clearly, but a Plated One loomed up at him. Adalon fended off a mace with his shield, which felt light as a feather. He crashed the shield into the face of his attacker and then peered again at the observer on the ridge.
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