“Gracious me,” Almaric whispered, one hand over his heart.
“If it please Your Ladyship,” said Ranulf, “you have come to the Northern Wood, in the kingdom of Anglielle, which extends many leagues from here. Do you know naught of King Reynard’s realm?”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Holly admitted.
“He is a beast of a man,” Almaric said in a low voice. “He has long hunted the Adepts, and those of us who are in league with them, since first he took the throne.”
“He’s . . . hunted them?” Holly’s heart beat faster.
“Aye. Killed or banished every one he could find.” The old man poured more tea all around. “You see, Lady Holly, the kings of this land are mortalfolk—they always have been. Before Reynard took the throne, magic- and mortalfolk lived harmoniously together. The Adepts even advised the king from time to time—some are quite gifted with Sight, and they are scholars of many things apart from magic. But when Reynard was born, everything changed.”
“But why?” Holly asked.
“The kingdom fell apart,” Almaric said, his forehead creasing with wrinkles. “The prince heir was taken—snatched from his cradle in the middle of the night. Naturally, his parents were grief-stricken. Reynard’s father, King Lancet, took to his bed and died shortly thereafter. Queen Priscelle was left to rule alone, and she spent all her energies searching the kingdom for her son.”
“How did she find him?”
Almaric shrugged. “She didn’t. Oh, she consulted with all manner of creatures—the Adepts themselves as well as dark sorcerers and other beings. The Mounted”—Almaric nodded at Ranulf—“rode in search over the moors and to the sea. But the prince was nowhere to be found. The kingdom plunged into chaos. The queen’s knights went missing, warring tribes invaded. Drought and famine spread across the land. It was brutal.”
The old man wiped his eyes with one hand, and even Ranulf bowed his head. Holly waited for Almaric to continue, but when he didn’t, she said, “But . . . what happened? It doesn’t seem so bad now. At least,” she said, wanting to sound respectful, “from what I’ve seen.”
Almaric nodded. “Nay, my lady, you’re quite right. You see, at last Reynard did return to the castle. By that time, he was in his sixteenth year, a strong and cruel man. He struck down the queen and took the throne for himself.”
“You mean”—Holly swallowed—“he killed his mother?”
“Aye. And some say for the better. In a way, it was like a miracle—Reynard became king, and suddenly the drought was gone. The fields were fertile. He organized armies, crushed the invaders. Even invaded other lands himself and extended the borders of Anglielle to the sea on all sides.”
“And enslaved the people,” the centaur spoke up, his tail switching. “Let us not forget that.”
“He is a ruthless man,” Almaric agreed. “Those that cross him are never heard from again.”
Like Ben and Everett, Holly thought. “But what about your magic?” she asked. “What happened to all the Adepts you talked about? And the rest of you?”
“That,” said Almaric, “is the sticking point. Reynard fears all magic and those we call the Exiles—those beings of magical lineage. He knew he would never rule the land absolutely unless he crushed them. Many are dead, and the rest are scattered through the moors and the woodland. Their magic hides them, for the most part, though the Mounted have to be careful. The king rarely ventures this deep into the wood. Of course, the Adepts are all gone. They were never really under the king’s rule, and Reynard couldn’t have that. So he exiled them—your people—to a far-off island. No one knows where they are now.” The old man smiled sadly. “Perhaps they even found their way to your own world.”
“But I told you, they’re not my people,” Holly protested.
Almaric shrugged. “Whether you know it or not, my lady, a wand such as yours can only belong to an Adept—one of great magical power. A shaper of spells. A sorcerer, if you may excuse the term. They are the most powerful beings in Anglielle.”
“But how could I be one of those? I’ve never heard of Adepts in my world. They aren’t even in the history books.”
“Do your books tell no tales of magic and sorcery?”
Holly thought a moment. “I guess they do. But they’re just stories.”
“How else did Your Ladyship acquire the wand? Was it not forged for you by a Wandwright?”
“Well, I . . . He’s more of a gardener.”
Almaric glanced at the centaur, who snorted.
“So, that prince, the one who made off with the boys,” Holly said, shuddering off a chill, “that’s the king’s son?”
“Aye, the prince Avery,” said Ranulf. He turned his head and spat into the old man’s garden. “He too is arrogant and cruel, even at thirteen years.”
“And he has Ben,” said Holly. Pudgy little Ben, who didn’t like planes or boats, Ben with his asthma and his allergies. Her heart rose in her throat. “Don’t you see, I have to do something. I have to get them back. It’s my fault that they’re here in the first place.”
The centaur shifted from one hoof to the other, as if deep in thought. “If Your Ladyship is not of this land, perhaps you have not been schooled in the arts of the wand?” he said at last.
Holly shook her head. “I don’t really know how to use it.”
“Then to free your kinsman, we must use conventional means.” Ranulf drew his sword again. “Almaric speaks truth. Much as I would storm the gatehouse in all due haste, our plan is best executed under cover of dark. Now, until such time is upon us—” The centaur suddenly broke off his speech. Holly saw his pointed ears swivel back toward the dark wood, and he looked to the sky. “Hark! Almaric, a moment. ’Tis Hornbeak.” He withdrew from the window into the wood.
“No, wait!” said Holly. She ran to the window with Almaric behind her. Together, they peered into the clearing.
A moment later, the centaur galloped out of the trees on the far side. His brown eyes were wide and his ears laid flat against his head. “She has been discovered!” he shouted. “The counsel is assembling. She must be protected, and we must go to them.” Then, without another word, he bolted back into the forest, clutching his sword in his fist.
“No, Ranulf! Come back!” Holly called.
But the centaur was gone.
“It must be terribly important,” Almaric was muttering, scooping the teacups and sugar tongs onto the wooden tray. “The counsel must be dealt with, Lady Holly. We cannot delay. Come, this way . . . quickly . . . ”
Before Holly could say anything else, Almaric had gripped her hand and pulled her through a low doorway in one corner of the room. It led to an even smaller round room, dense with flowered vines that grew up the walls and across the ceiling.
“ ’Tis the safest place in the forest, this room,” Almaric was saying as he fluttered across to a window and fastened the shutter. “My talents are nothing to your own, Lady Holly, but this elm does have certain protective properties—shadowed from mortalfolk, you see—no, I don’t suppose you do,” he added at her bewildered look. “You must bide here a time, all will be well.”
The old man’s trembling hands and furtive glances at his back did nothing to reassure Holly. “But I can’t,” she said, trying to push past Almaric. “The boys—”
“Are precisely the point, Your Ladyship,” said the magician, gripping her arm. At her surprised look, he softened, trying to smile. “I shall go and consult with Hornbeak and the others. You must remain. No more arguments.”
And with that, the old man backed out of the room and shut the wooden door behind him. Holly heard the sturdy click of a key turning. She yanked on the door handle, but it was no use.
She was locked in.
Chapter 13
* * *
What Happened to the Boys
Everett had little time to think about what had happened to Holly or where her captor had taken her. He was quite good at horseback riding, but even he had
never been on a ride like this one. For one thing, the prince, astride the horse behind him, held the reins, giving Everett nothing to grasp but the horse’s mane. For another, this was a much finer and more spirited horse than Everett was used to. The prince pushed the horse to a near full gallop along the winding, hilly path through the woods. Occasionally the saplings on either side whipped branches across Everett’s face. At one point the horse leaped a fallen tree and Everett nearly went over its head. Finally he found himself doubled over the horse’s neck, clinging to its mane. The pounding of the hooves gave him a headache, and the dust blowing up from the path caught in his eyes and throat. He tried to look ahead to quell the dizziness but couldn’t see much. It was like being on an amusement-park ride without the amusement.
At last—less than half an hour later, though it seemed like a lot longer—the horse slowed abruptly as the path widened and emerged from the forest. Everett could hear the other horse blowing behind them. He tried to turn around to see Ben, but the prince’s pointy elbow cracked his temple. “Be still, poacher,” he muttered, as they crested the hill.
For a moment Everett forgot that he was a prisoner on horseback and would probably be killed shortly. In front of him was the most magnificent castle he had ever seen—and he had seen several.
They trotted up to a long drawbridge over a wide moat that surrounded the castle. Two massive octagonal towers flanked its wide, stone face. He counted five stories of narrow windows. Above him sentries armed with crossbows paced the crenellated battlements. Masses of flowering trees and manicured beds lined the graveled drive.
The horses slowed as they approached an imposing gatehouse, where stood two guards in chain mail. The lord of this castle apparently feared no one; his fortress was wide open to visitors. The prince paused his horse, waiting for the guards to bow.
Lord Clement’s horse came up abreast and Everett got a look at Ben, thrown face-first into the horse’s mane. His eyes were pink and swollen like Ping-Pong balls, and his face was smeared with snot. Hives spread down his neck. While the horsemen spoke to the guards, Everett whispered, “Are you all right?”
“Allergic,” Ben whispered back in a thick voice. “To horses.” He sneezed.
Everett could only hope it wasn’t the sort of allergy that made your throat close up. As it was, Ben’s breathing had a thin, wheezy sound to it. But then again, thought Everett, that was likely the least of their problems.
The horses walked through the gatehouse into a vast courtyard enclosed by the castle walls on all sides. It was a busy place. A group of ladies sat in one corner doing some kind of needlework. Men carried barrels and drove sheep in and out of open storage areas, shouting orders; barefoot boys scuttled back and forth. Then all at once the courtyard fell silent and every knee bowed.
The prince dismounted, drawing his sword in the same motion. He held its point at Everett’s neck and shouted, “Gervase!”
A young knight dressed in chain mail, like the castle guards, appeared from the far side of the courtyard. “Your Highness.”
“Lord Clement believes he has seen an Adept in the Northern Wood,” said the prince.
“An Adept, Sire!” Gervase breathed, his eyes wide.
The prince snorted as if he didn’t believe it himself. “She looked to be a lass with a stick, if truth be known. But best send two of your fellows along the main path to search for her. Follow the stream a few leagues in. A horseman rode off with her—mayhap they can discover his trail.”
“ ’Twas the Mounted,” Clement muttered, turning red.
“And these,” said the prince, nudging Everett, “be poachers. We shall try their case on the morrow. Confine them until then.”
The knight bowed and motioned to another man. Gervase reached up and unhooked Everett’s bound hands from the saddle’s pommel and pulled him to the ground. His legs, numb from the ride, fell in a sort of puddle, but he was kicked roughly to his feet. The other knight lifted Ben down.
“Sire!” exclaimed Gervase. “What manner of beast is this?”
Ben did look beastly, with his blotchy face and his eyes swollen nearly shut. He was crying, too, which didn’t do his appearance any favors.
The prince shrugged. “He was a good sight more comely when we caught him. Take them to the North Tower.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” Gervase grabbed Everett from behind by the elbow, laying his sword flat across Everett’s chest. The other knight took hold of Ben, and together the knights marched them through a colonnade on the far side of the courtyard.
“This lad has need of a healer,” said Ben’s knight to Gervase as they passed out of the prince’s earshot.
“He is for the gallows in any case, Pagett.”
Ben began to howl.
Pagett gasped. “Not such a youngling as this?”
They covered steps and passageways until Everett had lost count, but at some point they approached an open basin with a pump next to it.
“Excuse me, Sir—knight,” Everett said.
“Aye, lad?”
“I was wondering, would it be all right if my friend at least washed his face?”
The knight shrugged and nodded at Pagett, who shoved Ben in front of the basin. He moved the sword to rest against the back of Ben’s neck. “Make a false move, friend,” he said, “and your head shall part company with your shoulders.”
While Ben sobbed quietly and pumped water into the basin, Pagett turned to Gervase. “Did you hear Lord Clement in the courtyard, Gervase? News of an Adept?”
Everett’s ears perked up. They were talking about Holly.
Gervase shrugged. “A tall tale from an old woman. There be no Adepts in this land since my father’s time, or longer.”
Pagett lowered his voice. “Mayhap it be unwise to hold the king’s tournament at Midsummer. ’Tis said to be a time of . . . of their power.”
“Will children’s tales be your excuse for not besting Bertran of the Oak?”
“ ’Tis he who should fear me, I should wager.”
“Take no offense if I lay no coins to that score. Aye, lad! That serves well enough.” Gervase jerked Ben away from the basin.
A moment later, they came to a steep, winding stone staircase. The knights prodded the boys up it at swordpoint.
“Fie upon the prince’s tower,” said Pagett, sounding winded after several minutes. “Can we not run them through? We might tell His Highness they turned on us and essayed to do battle, then perished in the attempt.”
“Are you not a knight of the realm? They may yet be spared. ’Tis not ours to judge.”
“We didn’t know the wood belonged to anyone,” Everett said. “Besides, if we were poachers, where’re our . . . ” He paused, about to say guns, and then substituted, “Bows and arrows?”
“They were found unarmed,” Pagett agreed. “Perchance His Highness will be merciful.”
And that was the last word on the subject.
After about ten minutes of climbing, the silence broken only by Ben’s gasps and wheezing, they reached a heavy door. Gervase took a key ring from somewhere on his person and opened it.
The room was small and round—Everett guessed they were in one of the tall, skinny towers at the back of the castle—and had a single high window. Otherwise, it was bare and dry, except for a few iron rings set into the stone wall.
“Ye shall stay fast enough unshackled,” said Gervase, following his gaze.
Ben collapsed on the floor, and Everett sat down next to him. The knights backed out of the chamber with swords raised. The door slammed shut behind them.
As soon as they were gone, Everett took off his jacket and rolled it into a ball. He lifted Ben’s head and laid it on the jacket, then peered at his puffy face anxiously. Ben’s breathing was thin, as if he were trying to suck air through a straw.
After a few moments, Ben managed to say, “In . . . my . . . pocket. Pock . . . et.”
Everett rummaged around in Ben’s jacket until he found
an inhaler. Ben seized it and pumped it into his mouth, then gestured at the jacket again. Everett probed deeper into the pocket and found a flat foil pack of pills. “This?”
“For all . . . er . . . gies,” Ben panted, and Everett at once punched two pills out of the foil. He helped Ben sit up so he could take them. In Ben’s other pocket he found a packet of tissues and some Tylenol. Weakly, Ben blew his nose several times and littered one corner of the tower with used tissues. Gradually the wheezing eased, and Ben’s eyes began to look more human.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Everett asked at last.
“Okay?” Ben’s breath hiccupped, then found its footing. “Let’s see. First, Holly drags us into this place, then gets us captured by I-Don’t-Know-Who. I’m practically dying of horse allergies and now we’re locked in a tower and people are talking about trials and hanging. Sure, Everett, I’m great.” His eyes teared up.
“Yeah, all right. I admit things are a bit sticky, but there’s no use panicking.” Everett was trying to sound more grown-up than he felt. His own throat was a little thick, and he could feel his eyes stinging from tears he was trying to keep down. He distracted himself by looking around the tower. “I wonder where this place is.”
“Who cares? How’re we gonna get out?” said Ben.
Everett got up and walked to the window, which was a bare opening without glass. He gazed down. The ground, a wide grassy area, was a sheer drop, more than a hundred feet. “I don’t know,” he admitted, coming back to sit by Ben. “But we’ve got a little time. We need to play along with his lot, make them think that we at least respect the king and his authority.”
“That kid is a king?” said Ben.
“Prince, the knights said. The lord with him, Clement, he’s some kind of nobleman or adviser or something. Anyway, poaching’s a serious crime. If we want to get out of here, we’ve got to get our story straight. We were just wandering, lost; we hadn’t any weapons. . . . ”
“My sister magicked us here from some other world. . . . ”
The Key & the Flame Page 8