The Lost Realm

by J. D. Rinehart

  “Do not be late for dinner,” said Lady Vicerin. She clutched her handkerchief between both hands. “You know how upset your father gets about such things.”

  She rustled away. Sylva turned to Elodie.

  “I know you want to escape. I could see it in your eyes the minute you arrived. Don’t deny it.”

  Elodie went cold.

  So I was right. She did see through me!

  “I don’t know what you’re—” she blustered.

  “Elodie, we grew up together. I know you better than anyone. You can’t fool me.”

  Elodie’s dress felt tight around her chest.

  “I . . . I was trying to fool everyone,” she whispered.

  To her amazement, a smile flashed briefly on Sylva’s rosy face. “You are fooling everyone. Everyone except me . . .” Her voice trailed away. She looked suddenly sad. “This isn’t the place you were meant to be, Elodie. You’re lost here. But you’re not alone.”

  Elodie hitched in a breath, let it out slowly.

  “If your brother managed to escape, you can too.”

  Elodie thought she’d had her day’s share of surprises. Now this. “You knew Tarlan was here? But you never said anything about it. I thought . . .”

  “Oh, we’re all supposed to keep quiet about him, especially around you. My father’s very embarrassed about it, you know. Your brother freed a group of children from the dungeons, and as for those giant birds . . . what are they called?”

  “Thorrods.” Elodie grinned. The thought of Tarlan running rings around Lord Vicerin thrilled her deeply.

  “They were spectacular!”

  “You should try riding on one.”

  “Have you done that?” Sylva’s eyes grew very wide.

  “A couple of times. But Tarlan’s the real expert. I can’t wait to see him again.”

  “Nor can I!” Now Sylva’s eyes were blazing.

  “What do you mean?” said Elodie, growing serious once more. “Sylva, what are you going to do about me? Aren’t you going to tell your parents the truth?”

  “Oh, Elodie. Don’t you understand? I want to escape too!”

  Another table. Another meal. Everything different. Everything the same.

  They think this castle is the whole world, Elodie thought as the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen took their places along either side of the enormous table. At the head, powdered and proud, sat Lord Vicerin. They think themselves so important. But it’s really such a tiny place. And they are so small.

  Six servants placed an array of silver trays on the table. Each was filled with nests of pastry containing tiny hard-boiled eggs, no bigger than her thumbnail. The guests oohed their appreciation, while Elodie judged that this first dish in the nine-course meal to come would have fed half the men in the Trident camp.

  But before the staff could begin serving, the big doors at the end of the dining hall crashed open. A grizzled man strode in, his gaunt face all but obscured by a long, ragged beard. His tattered furs swayed as he walked, his enormous boots thudding on the polished floor.

  The guests shifted uneasily in their seats. Several of the women pressed their napkins to their mouths. Lord Vicerin’s expression folded into a frown.

  As the man made for the head of the table, a guard scurried in after him.

  “Come back, you! Sorry, my lord. Begging your pardon. I told him to wait, but he just—”

  “What is the meaning of this?” said Lord Vicerin, rising to his feet.

  The visitor stopped just short of the table. He stood, feet planted wide, his big hands curled at his sides. Elodie got the impression that, beneath his furs, his body was as thin as his face. Yet he seemed to emanate strength.

  “Oy, you! On your knees!” said the guard, drawing his sword. But Lord Vicerin lifted his hand and waved him back.

  “I am not accustomed to seeing such a filthy specimen in my banqueting hall. I demand that you tell me who you are.”

  The man said nothing, simply glowered. Titters ran down the length of the table.

  Warming to his performance, Lord Vicerin stepped away from his chair and began to circle the newcomer—though Elodie noticed he made sure to keep out of striking range.

  “What are you, I wonder? A traveling bard, perhaps? Have you come to tell us a story? Or perhaps sing us a song? You’ll need a tongue for that, of course. But, oh, it seems you have forgotten where your tongue is.”

  The titters turned to laughter. One of the diners, bolder than the rest, lobbed a piece of bread at the man. It bounced off his head and landed on the floor. Several people applauded.

  Looking closer, Elodie saw that the man’s eyes had a dazed look about them. And those big hands were trembling slightly. Strong but thin, and unimaginably weary. What trials had he suffered?

  And why are you here?

  “I do have a story,” said the man. His voice was cracked, as if he hadn’t used it for a very long time. As he spoke, the laughter died away. “You may know it, Lord Vicerin. Or part of it, at least.”

  “I do not think—” Lord Vicerin began.

  “Once I was an Eye. An Eye of Idilliam. You know of the Eyes, I think, my lord—rangers under the command of King Brutan. We traveled far and wide throughout the kingdom, seeking out those who caused unrest and . . . suppressing them.”

  “Look, my man, I really do not—”

  “Those were difficult times.” The man’s voice grew deeper as he spoke, losing some of its hoarseness. His eyes brightened. “We were busy men. Very busy. Then a rumor came to Brutan. A rumor of a birth, of triplets born in the realm of Isur. Brutan’s first thought was of the prophecy and so, even though no new stars appeared in the sky, he feared for his life.”

  Elodie sat forward, listening intently, for this was a story entwined closely with her own.

  “This is all very interesting,” said Lord Vicerin, “but neither I nor my guests wish to listen to your ramblings.”

  From the guests’ fascinated expressions, Elodie could see that wasn’t true. Despite this, Vicerin waved the guard forward.

  “Wait,” said a voice. “I would hear his story.”

  To Elodie’s amazement, the speaker was Lady Vicerin. Had she ever challenged her husband in public before? Elodie couldn’t remember a single time. Perhaps Cedric’s misfortune had woken her up at last.

  “My dear,” said Lord Vicerin. “I do not believe it is appropriate to—”

  “Let him speak,” Lady Vicerin replied with a tight and haughty smile. “He is no bard, but his story is of interest.”

  Lord Vicerin’s eyes flashed with rage. Nevertheless, he stopped the guard in his tracks. “Finish your sorry tale,” he snapped. “Then I will show you what I do with uninvited guests.”

  If the man was intimidated, he didn’t show it. “Brutan lived his whole life in fear of the prophecy. Whenever he heard rumors of a new birth, he sent out his Eyes to investigate. This time he changed his orders to match the depth of his terror. He commanded us to kill every newborn child we found.”

  A woman gasped. Lord Vicerin’s frown deepened. Elodie suppressed a shudder.

  “I am pleased to say I refused to carry out my orders.” The man sighed heavily. “How could I commit such an atrocity? As for my colleagues . . . alas, they were not so squeamish. The first village they came to, they found me waiting for them.” He paused. “They did not leave that village alive.”

  “Is that the end of your tale?” said Lady Vicerin. “I do not believe it is.”

  “There is a little more, my lady. Years later the prophecy finally came true. Triplets were born to King Brutan, and the three stars appeared in the sky. They hang there still, as you all must know. But before Brutan could kill the newborns, they were handed over to trusted guardians and carried to places of safety. The wizard Melchior did this.”

  The man paused again. He pressed his trembling hands to his face, then dropped them once more to his sides.

  “I was one of those guardians.”
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  Gasps rose from the listening guests. Elodie would have gasped too, only she couldn’t breathe. Across the table, Sylva’s normally red cheeks had turned deathly pale. Lord Vicerin had stiffened, his face an unreadable mask.

  You looked after one of my brothers! Was it Tarlan or Gulph? By the stars, you were there on the night we were born. You were there!

  “Captain Leom,” said Lord Vicerin slowly. Faint pink glowed through the powder on his cheeks. “I thought you were dead! If only I had known it was you!”

  The man—Captain Leom—regarded Lord Vicerin solemnly. “Thirteen years shut inside a cave changes a man.”

  “A cave?” said Lord Vicerin.

  “I took the child to Yalasti. I myself had grown up there, and I planned to hide him in my home village. Yalasti is cold and remote, and would have been far enough from Brutan’s grasp for us to be safe.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just short of the village, I was attacked by Helkrags—vicious barbarians who track herds of elk. I took to my horse and fled. I thought I’d evaded them, only to find they’d surrounded me. There was no hope of escape. I wrapped the child in my cloak and hid him behind a snowdrift, near the track used by the villagers to forage in the woods. I hoped someone would hear his cries and find him.”

  “You abandoned a baby?” said Lady Vicerin.

  Captain Leom glared at her, the new brightness in his eyes turning briefly to fire. “Given what the Helkrags would have done to him, it was the only choice I had.”

  Tarlan, Elodie thought. This is Tarlan’s story. He still has that cloak!

  One glance across the table informed her that Sylva had made the connection too. Lord Vicerin was shifting uneasily, his brow starting to glisten through the powder.

  No wonder you’re worried. What would happen if Leom found out you kept Tarlan prisoner here?

  “The Helkrags captured me. They . . . they tortured me, forcing me to give up my ranger knowledge: knowledge of hidden paths, of the secret alliances between rival tribes. How to survive the Yalasti winter, which normally forces even men like themselves into hiding.”

  “How did you escape?” Lord Vicerin’s eyes darted around the room. Elodie knew that, with so many people watching and listening, he had to keep up a semblance of politeness. She suspected that all he wanted to do was run Leom through with a sword. “After a long time, the Helkrags moved me from the cave to an ice fort. We hadn’t been there long before they had some kind of squabble with a rival tribe who’d killed a thorrod. The squabble turned into a full-blown battle. In the chaos, I managed to steal a sword and fight my way to freedom. . . .”

  Captain Leom’s voice trailed off. He turned his head up to the ceiling and half raised one of his shaking hands.

  “I saw a boy. I saw a boy rising up out of the burning fort. He was flying, riding on a thorrod, and flanked by two others. His hair was red-gold, just like the baby I’d left in the woods, all those years before. And I knew it was him. Don’t ask me how. I just knew.”

  Captain Leom lowered his hand again. His audience listened in silence.

  “I tracked the thorrods as best I could. But I lost the trail in the Icy Wastes. Still I forged on, and now here I am in Ritherlee. Lord Vicerin, you were ever an ally of the good-hearted, and no friend to King Brutan. That is why I come to you now, for succor and shelter. For a chance to regain my strength and pick up the boy’s trail once more. He is the future king, you see, and he will need good men to stand beside him in the fight to come.”

  These last words came out in a kind of gasp. As he spoke them, Captain Leom staggered sideways, and his face drew down in a rictus of pain.

  “Fetch him a chair,” said Lady Vicerin. “Before he falls over. And something to drink.”

  Lord Vicerin snapped his fingers. A servant brought an ornate golden chair and deposited it immediately behind the hulking, fur-clad captain. Leom sat with a grunt, scattering dirt and smearing grime on the chair’s fine velvet cushions.

  Elodie wanted to cry out to him, to tell him that the boy really had been Tarlan, that the baby he’d saved was alive and well, and back with the wizard Melchior. But doing so would betray her true allegiance.

  Maybe later I can speak to him alone. Not now.

  A second servant handed Captain Leom a goblet, but the man’s trembling fingers betrayed him before he could take a drop. The goblet fell to the floor, spilling the wine it had contained. Nobody moved to help him.

  Elodie couldn’t contain herself. Springing to her feet, she grabbed another goblet from the table and took it to Captain Leom. Holding it gently to his lips, she helped him drink. Half the wine soaked into his bushy beard, but the rest went into his mouth.

  He nodded his thanks. Then his gaze fell on Elodie’s hair. He stared, his eyes slowly widening.

  “Can it be true?” he said at last. “Are you . . . ? Have I lost one of the three only to find another?”

  Something cold wrapped itself around Elodie’s fingers. It was Lord Vicerin’s hand. It took all her willpower not to recoil.

  “It is true,” said Lord Vicerin smoothly. “We take great care to protect our princess. Is that not so, Elodie, my dear?”

  “Yes, Father,” Elodie replied through gritted teeth.

  Her revulsion increased as Lord Vicerin brought his lips close to her ear. “Forgive me, my child,” he whispered so only she could hear. His breath was unspeakably hot and damp. “It appears that at least one of your brothers is still alive. Your place as queen is assured, naturally, but we will endeavor to find the boy and keep him safe. Just as we keep you safe.”

  Elodie couldn’t speak, so she just nodded and gave him what she hoped was a meek-looking smile.

  “Your story is a remarkable one, Captain Leom,” said Lord Vicerin, stepping away from Elodie and pitching his voice so that the whole room could hear. “And you are a remarkable man. I am glad you have come to seek sanctuary at Castle Vicerin, and I will do everything in my power to find this lost boy.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Captain Leom, bowing his head.

  “This boy,” Lord Vicerin went on. “Yes, this lost boy. I worry about his fate. Certainly there have been no sightings of such a boy in Ritherlee, nor of these three thorrods—such birds certainly could not be missed, even by the most dull-eyed lookout!”

  The other diners chuckled knowingly at this. Elodie guessed that at least half of them must have known he was lying. Lord Vicerin drank in the appreciation with a shrug and a wave. Elodie resisted the urge to kick him in the shins.

  “As a mark of my respect for you, Captain Leom, I propose a rescue mission. It will leave for Yalasti immediately, first to defeat these barbaric Helkrags, and second to pick up the boy’s trail. We have our princess. Soon we will also have our prince!”

  This provoked cheers from the audience and a grateful smile from the weary Captain Leom. But Elodie could only wonder at the speed with which Lord Vicerin had switched from unguarded suspicion of this travel-worn guest to wholehearted support of his cause.

  And puzzle over the fact that none of what he’d just said made any sense.

  You’ve only just brought me back from the forests of Isur. You know that Tarlan must still be somewhere up there. So why send men to Yalasti? What are you really up to, Vicerin?

  CHAPTER 14

  We’re leaving,” said Gulph. “Right now.”

  Ossilius regarded him, bleary-eyed. “What’s the matter, Gulph? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “There’s no night in Celestis and you know it.”

  “The clock says it is time to sleep. Go back to bed, Gulph.”

  The clock stood on the other side of the dormitory they shared, a delicate construction of pipes and pulleys. Silver water dripped steadily into little waterwheels, which spun to power a slowly turning needle that marked off the hours.

  According to the water clock, it was the middle of the night. But outside the window there was only the same drab twilight in
which Celestis was perpetually smothered.

  “I can’t sleep. Ossilius, my friends are up there in Idilliam. Brutan’s got them in his clutches, I know it. I’ve got to help them.”

  Ossilius propped himself up. He poured himself a goblet of wine from the jug on the nightstand and sipped it slowly, rubbing his eyes. “She says we must stay. The woman. What is her name again?”

  “Lady Redina? I don’t care what she says. If we can rescue the others and bring them down here, she’ll have to let them stay. It would be too cruel to turn them away.”

  Ossilius frowned. “Remind me who these friends of yours are again, Gulph.”

  “Wake up, Ossilius! I’m talking about the Tangletree Players. Surely you haven’t”—he stared at his friend, comprehension slowly dawning—“forgotten?”

  The blank look on Ossilius’s face told him everything he needed to know.

  “You don’t remember them, do you?” Gulph said dully.

  “Remember who?” Ossilius drained his goblet and poured himself another. “Won’t you take a drink, Gulph? It’s really very mild.”

  “Never mind the wine . . .” Gulph began to say, then stopped. Understanding crashed down on him like an avalanche. “The wine!”

  He knocked the goblet from Ossilius’s hand. It flew across the dormitory, spraying red wine across the floor, and landed with a clatter in the far corner.

  “Don’t drink it! It’s poison!”

  Ossilius’s eyes were dull. “What are you talking about? It tastes very fine.”

  “Never mind what it tastes like! I’m the only one who hasn’t touched that stuff, and I’m the only one who hasn’t started forgetting!” Gulph grabbed the jug and tipped the contents into the washstand, the liquid gurgling away. “Ossilius, you can’t drink another drop. If you do, you’ll never want to go home again.”

  Ossilius gave him a quizzical look. “But I am home.”

  “No.” Gulph shook his head, denying not only Ossilius’s words but the whole dreadful mess. “You’ve got to come with me. Let’s go now. By the time we get to Idilliam, your memory will have come back.”

  I hope so, anyway.