The sorcerer had lowered his staff and was staring aghast at the horizon, where two dozen black steeds were charging forward carrying the elite Elms-haven guard, whose golden garb was gleaming in the setting sun. “Interfering elves!” he hissed, forgetting the boy for a moment.
A moment was all Albin needed. He lunged forward again and this time his sword caught the sorcerer in the side. He felt a moment of triumph before the man’s black eyes narrowed and a throaty laugh escaped his lips. “Your mortal weapons can’t hurt me,” he snarled, pulling the blade out and arrogantly throwing it back to him.
“And what about them?” Albin asked, pointing to the elves in the distance. He was stalling for time and they both knew it.
“They’re here for their prince.” The sorcerer watched as, true to his word, the elves dismounted and started to dig furiously at the sand, uncovering more and more of the men and their horses. The sorcerer raised his hand and waved it casually in Albin’s direction. “You can wait.”
Albin experienced a blast of cold like never before. It was so out of place in the desert and it took him a moment to realise he could not move a muscle. He was frozen still. He watched, helplessly, as the sorcerer raised his palms and sent fireballs hurtling and spinning through the air towards the elves.
Albin wanted to shout out- to warn them- but his voice would not work either. He watched the fireballs exploding around the elves, sending sandy sprays up into the air like geysers. He heard their yells, carried on the breeze, as some of the elves were caught in the blasts and perished. Then a louder and closer shout of anguish tore his attention away from the elves.
The sorcerer had stopped attacking and was down on his knees in the sand. On his head was a familiar mound of fur, hissing and clawing at his black eyes.
“Minkle!” Albin shouted, at once realising that he was free from the spell.
“Your sword is only a mortal weapon when it’s in its mortal form,” said the Reader’s voice in Albin’s head. “You know what you have to do.”
Albin gulped but there was no time to waste. “Stop!” he yelled commandingly as he had done that day in the forest, so many weeks before, and he watched, less horrified this time, as the sword transformed into a serpent.
Minkle jumped aside and the sorcerer saw the snake but it was too late. His eyes went wide as the snake sunk its fangs into his neck and the poison entered his blood. The snake hissed, released his victim and slithered across the sand.
Albin watched the air shimmer as the snake changed back into the sword he had come to know so well. By the time he had retrieved it, the sorcerer was gone.
“He’s gone back to the Isle of Arcan. His potions there can save him- if he gets to them in time.” Minkle shook the sand from his fur. “I hate the desert.”
“How did you get here?” Albin wanted to know.
“The same way as you. I was watching in the spy glass and you needed my help.”
“You can say that again.”
Minkle smiled warmly and Albin was struck by how human his expressions made him seem. “Where my master goes, I will always follow,” said the creature, “but now it’s time for us both to go back.”
“But our friends-”
“-Will be fine now that the elves have arrived,” Minkle finished firmly. “They can’t know that we were here and Talia is waiting for us.”
Albin was exhausted and it took the concentration of the two of them- Reader and master- to return them to the ship just before Talia raised her hand to knock on their cabin door.
Chapter 16
Elms-haven
The Main Hall of the Elven Palace was more magnificent than Borin could have ever imagined and it was splendidly decked out for the occasion. Ice sculptures of birds and beasts were set around the outside of the room, between the ivory pillars, and when the sunlight from the high-domed ceiling shone upon them, they sparkled like diamond.
Rows of pine benches were filled with guests dressed in all their finery and a long, green ceremonial carpet ran down the centre; leading the way to the golden altar, where Arius would receive his crown and title.
“King Aspen certainly has shown his gratitude,” Dannymere whispered. “These are the best seats in the house!”
Borin had to agree. Since the elves had rescued them on the edge of the desert, and learned the full story, the friends had been treated like royalty for the part they had played in bringing Arius home.
Borin thought back to the sandy tidal wave that had nearly ended their lives. The awful sensation of drowning in sand; of trying to swim through it but being pulled down; having it fill your nostrils, ears and mouth. He shuddered. There had been a moment, under there, when he had given up on life, but then the sand had been stripped back and air had flooded his lungs once more. He pondered that moment of release. The sand had left almost as rapidly as it had come and he thought the elves must have used some kind of magic to save them.
All the men had been disorientated when they emerged from the sand but they learned later that the elite guard of Elms-haven had ridden to their rescue after a tip off from one of the garrisons. The sentries at the garrison had recognised who they had believed to be the prince, and sent word to the border patrol. They, in turn, had sent the elite guard to meet their future King and bring him home safely.
Borin smirked. The elite guard had dug as if their own lives had depended on it, believing their prince to be buried beneath the sand, but once they had got a good look at Dannymere, they were certainly not amused.
One of the senior elves was all for leaving them there, at the mercy of the desert, and Felis had had to do some fast talking to explain the whole situation and secure their safe passage back to the elven land.
Borin instinctively glanced across at the old fighter, who was sat with a faraway look on his face. The seat next to Felis was empty and Borin knew that the older man was thinking about his nephew. Hugo was the first to be consumed by the sand and he had been buried under it for a very long time.
Hugo had not been conscious or breathing when the elves uncovered him. Borin remembered that dread moment when they all looked at each other; exhausted and helpless and fearing the worst. Minutes had seemed like hours. Then came the miracle moment when the young fighter had started to convulse and cough up the sand that had been clogging his lungs. He had heaved and retched until he was spent and then lost consciousness again. Now he was recuperating in the medical bay.
“It’s a shame Hugo has to miss this,” Borin said, and when the old fighter chuckled he asked, “What’s so funny?”
“I’ve already told you that Hugo is not the most sociable of my sister’s sons… he detests music and dancing or had you forgotten?”
“Ah yes. Dancing is so undignified!” Borin imitated, recalling the first time they had met.
“Well, being confined to the medical room gives him the perfect excuse to dodge the celebrations while still being hailed a hero. I spoke to him this morning and he was feeling rather pleased about it all.”
Borin was about to make a witty retort when his attention was taken by a late-comer in a wide-brimmed hat, scurrying down the left-hand side of the hall, passing several ice sculptures and nearly toppling one before arriving at his destination. “Is this seat taken?” he asked as he squeezed in next to Borin.
“Fendril Dromak!” Borin exclaimed, surprised, and then he quickly added, “I guess we owe you an explanation…”
Dromak shook his head. “There’s no need: the elves have explained everything and they have compensated me very handsomely for the loss of my five men to what they called a ‘more noble and just’ cause!”
“How much?” Dannymere asked and Borin rewarded him with a rough elbow to the ribs.
Dromak laughed. “Never you mind! Anyway, I’m just pleased to see that you’re all safe and well.”
Albin, who was sitting in front, did not escape the merchant’s notice. He reached forward and ruffled the boy’s hair. “What’s wrong wi
th you, lad- cat got your tongue?”
“I think so,” Albin blushed, turning around in his seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay to do my job,” he said earnestly.
“Ah, the job you ended up with was far more important than working for me, lad. And it turns out that young Callum has quite a flair for cooking. He took over after you left.”
“So you know about us,” said Felis amiably, “but what brings you to the elven land?”
“I’ve come to see my rubies in the crown, of course, where they belong! The Gods know I had a battle to get them here!” And the merchant recounted how the rubies had gone missing a second time, only to be returned one night by a mysterious furry bear with bushy eyebrows, the likes of which he had never seen before or since.
“What about your company?” Borin wanted to know and the merchant put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Disbanded now and off on new adventures, except Bardolph of course. He’s over there,” and he pointed across the hall to where a very distinct, bald head was visible above the crowd. “Anyway, some men took work on a van headed south while others decided to spend winter in Desea.”
“I don’t blame them,” Felis chipped in. “It’s much more mild and temperate.”
“And Rolphus?” Borin asked.
“Rolphus has been commissioned to make furniture for the Lord of Desea who has always wanted a wardrobe like his friend-”
“-The Lord of Avenna,” Borin finished with a laugh. “I’m glad he’s gone back to woodwork. It always was his passion. Perhaps we’ll call on him once the celebrations are done. What do you say, Dannymere?”
“Sounds good to me.”
From his row in front, Albin had listened to Dromak’s story with great interest. “You didn’t tell me you found the rubies again,” he whispered accusingly to the creature that was hiding in a bag beneath his seat.
Albin heard Minkle’s laughter floating through his mind like the peel of a bell. “I’m good at finding things,” said the Reader mischievously.
Ten elves dressed in gold stood up and blew their horns to announce the arrival of the prince. A hush descended as everyone ceased their chatter and turned their expectant eyes to the door.
Arius was dressed in the traditional emerald-green ceremonial robes of the Evergreen House and he beamed with pride as he waved to the crowd which had assembled to share his moment.
In the absence of his mother, Arius had chosen Talia to lead him to the altar. She looked radiant in a long, off-the-shoulder, pale green gown. It was made from silk and it rippled like water as she walked.
Albin was sitting at the end of the row and she touched him affectionately on the cheek as she passed. He grinned. Talia had indeed had the last laugh when the Council of Elders were forced to recognise her role in rescuing the heir of Elms-haven; and now she was enjoying the honour of taking him to the altar and into his future.
Apparently the ‘True Elves’ had disbanded upon Arius’ return. Rumour had it that Hesper, Talia’s father and the prince’s uncle, had been responsible but little else was known and on an occasion like this, all were content to let sleeping dogs lie.
Dannymere lit up like a lantern when Talia waved to him but it was Borin’s gaze that she caught and held. She put her fingers to her throat, to the silver leaf pendant which he had returned to her that morning, with his heart-felt thanks for the loan of it.
The horns sounded again and there was a collective intake of breath as King Aspen appeared at the front of the hall, with his arms outstretched to welcome his sole son and heir.
In the King’s right hand was the newly-crafted crown. The twelve identical rubies glowed like hot coals with the promise of future peace and prosperity. Borin looked at the old merchant next to him and could have sworn there were tears of joy in his eyes when he saw it.
“Come forth, my son, and take your place at the head of our house!” King Aspen’s voice was as loud as it was commanding. The King had a youthful face in spite of his age and only his shoulder-length, white hair betrayed the longevity of his life.
Arius tried to commit every sound and sight to memory: he knew that this was the most special and significant moment he was ever likely to have and he wanted to feel and remember it in all its glory.
Talia grinned. “Is it how you imagined?” she whispered.
“It’s even better,” he murmured, patting her hand fondly and they continued to glide down the aisle.
Just for an instant, the prince stopped in front of Dannymere and onlookers were again struck by the similarity between the two. Then the future king did something unheard of and something that would be talked about for generations: he bowed low in deference and gratitude.
Dannymere was stunned. Then Felis began to clap- a slow, reverential clap that the other guests took up as the prince continued to move, once more, towards the front of the hall.
The Lost Son (Kingdom Books Book 1) Page 12