“Let me do the talking,” said Gulph as they jumped to the ground.
“With pleasure.” Tarlan folded his arms and glared at the crowd of onlookers. “Just don’t take too long.”
Gulph raised his hands, palms out.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he announced. “We just want to talk.”
What he really wanted to do was ask about his sister. But mentioning Elodie’s name might not be the best way to open the conversation.
“We’ve just come from the castle,” he said instead. “Was it bad there?”
“Bad?” said a soldier whose bloodied arm was supported in a sling. “Oh, it was bad, all right.”
“What’s it to you?” called a woman. She wore battle-scarred armor and an expression of profound mistrust. “Who are you anyway?”
Gulph ignored the question. “Who set all the fires in the castle?”
“Helkrags!”
The man who said this stood a little away from the rest. He was short and wore heavy armor but no helmet.
“Helkrags? What are they?”
“Elk-hunters,” growled Tarlan. His cheeks flushed red. “They’re killers, all of them. What are they doing so far from Yalasti?”
“The great Lord Vicerin hired them.” The man spat to the side. “Some allies they turned out to be.”
“They were supposed to help you, these Yalasti soldiers?” asked Gulph.
“They’re not soldiers! Would a soldier murder innocent civilians? Would a soldier turn on his comrades? Helkrags are murderers and barbarians!”
Gulph noted the straight line of the man’s back, the proud angle of his neck. He also observed how the other Vicerin troops remained silent and respectful as he spoke.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
The man pressed his fist against his chest—some kind of salute, Gulph supposed. “Captain Ariston of the Seventh Vicerin Battalion. And yours?”
“Let’s come to that in a minute. Where’s Lord Vicerin?”
Captain Ariston frowned, and for a moment Gulph thought he’d run out of luck. Then the officer replied, “Our great lord has not been seen for some time.”
Hearing Ariston’s mocking tone, Gulph understood immediately that this officer did not think his commander in chief was “great” at all.
“We might be onto something here,” he whispered to his brother.
Tarlan looked doubtful. “They’re loyal to Vicerin. Why would they help us?”
“Wait and see,” Gulph told him. He turned back to the crowd. “But Lord Vicerin is probably safe somewhere, right?”
“Too right!” growled the soldier with the broken arm.
“Slippery as an eel, that one,” said another.
“Always looks after himself does the great lord,” added a third.
They hate him!
“What about his family?” Gulph asked Captain Ariston. “His children?”
“Do you mean the Lady Sylva? And the young Lord Cedric?”
The names meant nothing to Gulph. “I mean Elodie.”
“That evil witch?” hissed the woman in the battered armor. “Don’t even mention her name!”
“Witch?” Gulph was confused, and a little disturbed. “I don’t understand.”
“She died.”
Tarlan flinched. Gulph’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“Died?” he croaked.
“Died and rose again, only now she’s with all her dead friends.”
“That’s why we’re here,” added the man. “Elodie and her army of the dead—they drove us out of our own castle.”
Gulph’s mind was racing.
Maybe she’s not dead at all!
Tarlan had already told him about the ghost army their sister had led against Brutan—perhaps she’d managed to raise another.
Good! Maybe they’ll be our allies against the Galadronians too!
“Gulph!” Tarlan was by Theeta’s side with his sword drawn. “If Elodie’s there, we have to find her. We have to go. Now!”
“Wait!” Gulph shot back. “Just a moment longer.”
“Time’s wasting!”
“Your thorrod’s fast. We’ll catch up to them.”
This seemed to mollify Tarlan. He sat down on the grass, looking grumpy. But at least he put his sword away.
Gulph turned back to Captain Ariston, who’d watched the exchange with interest.
“I know you,” the Vicerin officer said slowly. It took Gulph a moment to realize he was talking to Tarlan. “You were a prisoner. Our great lord held you in the White Tower.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You escaped.”
“Yes, I did,” said Tarlan with casual pride.
“That’s right,” said Gulph. “And Elodie was a prisoner there her whole life.” He took a deep breath. “If you think about it, you were all prisoners. That’s how Lord Vicerin works. He makes sure everyone does exactly what he says. There’s a word for that—tyrant!”
“Our great lord is no longer in charge of his affairs.” Captain Ariston’s face betrayed no emotion at all.
“Maybe not. But a new tyrant has come to Toronia—the Witch-Empress Hypiro. She’s come all the way from Galadron, and from what I’ve heard, she’s ten times as bad as Lord Vicerin.”
Gulph had seen enough in the mind of the Galadronian soldier, and heard enough from Kalia, to know this was true. He remembered the strange trails of sand left by the enemy’s arrows, and shuddered.
“If Hypiro wins, we’ll all be prisoners! You, me, every last person in Toronia! Is that what you want?”
Captain Ariston rubbed his hand down his face. He’d looked tired from the start. Now he looked utterly spent. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the angry woman shouted out:
“Why should we listen to any of this? You’re just a couple of no-good ragamuffins with a great big bird for company. You won’t even tell us your names.”
“My name is Gulph.” His words silenced the woman and carried right to the back of the crowd. “This is my brother, Tarlan. Elodie is our sister. We are the prophecy three, the triplets destined to kill the cursed king and take up the crown of Toronia.”
Gulph felt his voice growing stronger. Above him, the three prophecy stars burned bright, refusing to surrender to the brilliant afternoon sun.
“Toronia has been torn apart by war. You know this better than anyone. What we bring is a battle not for war, but for peace. That is what the prophecy promises: a crown of three, and a new era of peace for all of Toronia!”
He broke off, breathing hard, hoping his words had struck home. To his dismay, a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.
“Peace?” scoffed the man with his arm in a sling. “We’ll never see peace again. Not here, not anywhere.”
The angry woman had drawn her sword. None of her neighbors displayed her open hostility, but Gulph could sense the crowd as a whole growing listless and disinterested. Clearly wishing to provoke something, the woman began pushing her way toward him. No sooner had she begun moving than Gulph heard a rustle as Tarlan sprang to his feet, and the swish of his brother’s blade being drawn from its scabbard.
I won’t let it end like this! I won’t!
Fixing his gaze on Captain Ariston, Gulph clenched his fists and sent his mind flying across the gap between them. There was a brief sensation of flight—hot sand beneath me, hot sun above, hot desert wind carrying me between—and then he was . . .
. . . surrounded by wrestling limbs and clashing swords, a thousand voices united in a single, monumental battle cry. All around on the bloody field the dead lie in sorrowful heaps, and with every passing breath the piles of bodies grow bigger and bigger until they blot out first the sun, and then the sky, and then the world, until at last . . .
. . . Gulph expanded his mind through the rest of the crowd, entering their shared experiences of battle and death, chaos and war, and understanding that for a long time this was all these people had known, and that they
were tired, and that . . .
. . . somewhere far away, a flame is burning. It flickers in the far distant darkness of their lives, rising into view like the mast of a ship just visible on the horizon. The flame is tiny, almost nothing at all, yet inside the fire is contained a whole new world in which fresh seeds are being sown, and crops are being raised, and hearths are warm and homes are filled with children and laughter, and everything is bright because that is the single most wonderful thing that peace can bring to a person’s life: light. And the name of that tiny flame is . . .
“Hope.”
Gulph spoke the word so quietly he didn’t think anyone had heard it. Yet the woman stopped in her tracks, and Tarlan lowered his sword, and Captain Ariston’s hand fell to his side and his tired eyes grew wide.
“Hope,” Gulph repeated. “That’s what you want, all of you, I know it. Warm homes where hope can grow. The hope you feel for the future when you see your children play. Hope that all will be well. The hope of peace. That’s what I’m offering. It’s really all I’m offering, I suppose. But I think it might be enough.”
He shrugged his pack from his shoulders. Delving into it, he drew out the crown. As he held it up, the onlookers gasped.
“This is the crown of Toronia. I’ve been carrying it for a long time, but that doesn’t mean my legs aren’t shaking as I stand here before you. Most of my life I’ve been poor, scratching a living with a band of wandering players. I’ve been locked up—yes, I’ve been a prisoner too. I’ve seen my friends badly treated. Seen them killed. I was in Idilliam when Brutan was king. He was bad enough, but Nynus was even worse. I’ve lived thirteen hard years at the end of a thousand years of fighting, and do you know what? It’s enough. Enough war. Enough hardship. Enough bad times. I want the good times to begin. Don’t you?”
The faces looking at him were still lined with fatigue. But there was something else in them too. Surprise? Expectation?
Hope?
“One last battle,” Gulph said, stowing the crown carefully back in his pack. “If we all fight together, one last time, we can end the bad times forever. The past is over. It’s time for the future to begin. Time for a new Toronia. A peaceful Toronia. That’s my hope. Isn’t it yours?”
The woman’s sword fell to the ground with a dull thunk.
Captain Ariston pressed his fist to his chest, then dropped smartly to one knee and bowed his head. A moment later, the rest of the soldiers were kneeling too.
Gulph took in a deep, shuddering breath and turned to his brother. Tarlan was grinning.
“I thought animals could be hard work,” he said, “but these humans take some convincing, don’t they?”
“So are you glad we stopped to talk to them?”
“I suppose it hasn’t done any harm.”
“Am I allowed to say ‘I told you so’?”
Tarlan wrapped an arm affectionately round Gulph’s neck and rapped him gently on the top of his head.
“Don’t even think about it,” Tarlan said, laughing.
• • •
They didn’t have far to fly before Castle Darrand appeared over the brow of a low hill, glowing bright in the light of the setting sun. To Gulph’s dismay, what had clearly once been a grand building was now little more than a ruin.
“Will the Vicerins find their way here all right?” Gulph asked, glancing anxiously behind them.
“They know this realm better than we do,” Tarlan replied. “If Captain Ariston said they’d follow us here, they’ll do it.”
Dusk collected around them as Theeta swooped down toward the ruined hall. The surrounding trees were thick with shadows, and more than once Gulph thought he saw figures scurrying among them. They came and went, were there and then gone. Gulph’s tongue dried up in his mouth; his heart pounded.
Are they ghosts?
If they were . . .
Elodie? Are you here? Is it possible?
Theeta swooped past the caved-in roof of Castle Darrand and over a wide, battle-scarred lawn. Here, the last rays of the dying sun sliced low through the trees, making the ragged grass seem to glow.
Just as Theeta touched down, a black horse trotted into view at the far end of the lawn. On its back rode a small, slender figure dressed in silver armor. A girl. Like the grass, she glowed. Behind her horse, rippling like smoke on a breeze, came an army of phantom soldiers.
“On, Theeta,” Tarlan whispered.
The thorrod took off immediately, and began skimming fast and low toward the horse and its rider with her claws brushing against the grass. The wind blew Gulph’s hair back from his face.
Theeta landed again in the middle of the lawn. The girl rode up and reined in her horse. Gulph watched in a daze as she took off her helmet. A short mane of red-gold hair tousled up from beneath it. Her black eyes reflected the sunset. Gulph stared into them. She stared back. She turned her gaze to Tarlan. She laughed.
“Elodie!” Gulph had no idea if he’d said her name aloud or not. His mouth felt numb.
“Gulph.” Her voice sounded like one he’d known his whole life. “And Tarlan.”
No sooner had Gulph thought this than Elodie extracted her feet from her stirrups and hurled herself across the gap between horse and thorrod. Gulph and Tarlan dived to catch her, tumbling off Theeta’s back and onto the soft grass, where they whirled around and around, laughing and crying and laughing again. Then, they tripped over their feet and landed in an untidy sprawl, out of breath.
“You’re here!” Elodie gasped. “You’re both here!”
“We’re here!” Tarlan agreed.
“Together at last!” Gulph laughed.
In some strange way it seems like we were never apart.
As they lay there, laughing, the dusk crept over the lawn and swallowed up what was left of Castle Darrand. Yet here on the battlefield a single sun’s ray still lingered, enclosing the two brothers and their sister in its rich golden light.
“Is it really happening?” Gulph stretched out his hand. Elodie placed her hand on top, interlacing her fingers with his. Tarlan did the same. Their touch was warm, solid, true. “Are we really going to rule Toronia?”
Just as he asked this question, the sun finally set. Even without its light, their hands continued to glow. They looked up at the three prophecy stars, burning in the darkness high above them.
Gulph didn’t know what came next. But whatever it was, he was ready for it. He sent a silent thought up to the stars.
Are you really watching us? I hope you are. Oh, I hope you are! Because we’re about to do something nobody’s seen before!
CHAPTER 17
Crossing the lawn to the big front porch of Castle Darrand, Elodie felt as if she was floating on air. The thoughts in her head and the feelings in her heart were soaring together like birds wheeling in the sky. The only thing keeping her steady was having her hands clasped tightly around those of her brothers—Gulph on her left, Tarlan on her right. She felt that if she let go, she would fly up into the night and never be seen again.
The hall was a mess of fractured walls and fallen rafters. However, the porch—a high stone arch enclosing a wide set of steps—was largely undamaged. Elodie was overjoyed to see who was waiting for her in its shadows.
“Sylva! Cedric!”
The phantom army had straggled somewhat during the march from Castle Vicerin, and they’d become separated. Delighted to see them again, Elodie ran the last few paces to where they stood waiting on the bottom step.
“We’ve only just got here. We were about to explore . . .” Belatedly Cedric registered the presence of Tarlan and Gulph, and closed his mouth with a snap.
“Look!” Elodie was breathless, partly from running, partly because her heart wouldn’t stop turning somersaults. “They’re here!” She held up her brothers’ hands. “My brothers!”
Cedric shuffled his feet. “I . . . uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then he clapped his hand against his forehead and broke into a grin. “What am I saying?
It’s wonderful to meet you!”
“Hello, Tarlan,” said Sylva, and Elodie wondered if there was a hint of shyness in her voice. “It’s good to see you again.”
“I always knew you were on our side!” Tarlan said to her.
Gulph was standing a little apart in his lopsided way. Sensing his awkwardness, Elodie pulled him forward. “This is Gulph.”
“Hello.” Sylva smiled. “So you’re the only triplet who hasn’t been locked in our castle.”
“I suppose I am. I feel left out!” Gulph wasn’t as dashing as Tarlan, nor as tall, but when he grinned, his whole face became suddenly handsome.
Black eyes. Red-gold hair. Being with my brothers is like standing between two mirrors.
At the top of the porch stairs, the once-grand doors leading into the hall hung in splinters. Now a group of gray figures, their bodies wispy like smoke, drifted through them into the starlight.
“Lady Darrand!” Tarlan started to run up the steps. Halfway up he stopped. “You . . . you’re a ghost. I’m so sorry.”
“You know Lady Darrand?” said Elodie, joining him.
“We met when I first came out of Yalasti.” Tarlan looked distraught, but Lady Darrand was staring at him in wonder.
“This is your brother, Elodie?” she said. “Tarlan saved the life of my daughter, Sorelle. I swore to help him in return one day. Now I will repay the debt, and gladly.”
Spreading the wispy yellow robe she wore over her armor, she knelt. Beside her, Lord Winterborne and the rest of the Ritherlee nobles did the same.
“Hail the prophecy,” said Lady Darrand softly. The others took up her words in a kind of murmuring chant. Elodie felt her skin break out into gooseflesh.
As the chanting died away, Lady Darrand descended the steps to meet them.
“My hall is yours,” she said. “You will find friends and allies waiting for you inside. Oh, do not look so surprised—Castle Darrand is not quite the ruin it looks from the outside.” She faltered, then went on. “Sorelle is with them. Thanks to you, she is safe and well. But . . . I do not wish my daughter to see me this way. As long as I remain visible, she might . . . she might . . .”
“It’s all right,” said Elodie quickly. “I understand. I can make it like it was before. I’ll be the only one able to see you. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?”
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