Then, to his utter amazement, the boy vanished.
CHAPTER 29
The farther they ventured onto the Idilliam Bridge, the more exposed Elodie felt. Here they were, an entire army, balanced on a narrow finger of rock jutting over a seemingly bottomless chasm. The longer they remained out here the more vulnerable they would become.
We can’t stop now, she thought. Gulph needs us.
Trident took up the entire width of the bridge, yet the ghost army was there too, their mounts matching the strides of the living horses hoofbeat for hoofbeat. Now that they were close to the Idilliam end of the bridge, she no longer needed Fessan’s spyglass to see what was happening in front of the city. A battle raged there, with legions of troops clashing inside clouds of white powdery dust. Maybe the fighting was about Nynus’s seizing power; maybe it was something else. It didn’t matter. Trident was here to end it, once and for all.
But what would be the cost?
She glanced again at the ghost army, marching across thin air. How many more ghosts will there be by the end? she thought with a shudder.
“Halt!” cried Fessan, raising his hand. “All halt!”
Discus tossed his head and champed at the bit as the Trident column slowed and stopped. Elodie patted his neck to soothe him. No wonder he was restless. Immediately ahead yawned the wide gap between the broken roadway on which they’d been walking and the far side of the bridge. Mist swirled, obscuring the immeasurable depths of the canyon below.
“It’s a long way across,” Elodie said.
“We will bridge it,” Fessan replied. “Trebuchets!”
Elodie fell back as, all around her, the machinery of Trident unfolded. One by one, the six giant catapults were brought forward. Their wooden frames creaked as they were maneuvered into place. Elodie held her breath, imagining the stone spine of the bridge creaking too.
Please let it hold. . . .
But the bridge showed no signs of strain. Soon the six trebuchets were lined up at its broken end, each loaded with a large rock. White-bearded Dorian, who was standing in front of them, brought his arm down in signal.
In perfect unison, the trebuchets were released. Their gigantic tree-trunk arms swung up and over, launching the six huge rocks on trajectories that took them over the break in the bridge to land on the opposite side. Around each one was tied a heavy rope; the ropes trailed behind as the rocks arced through the air.
All the rocks fell heavily on the far side, sticking fast where they’d landed—except one, which spun away over the edge of the bridge. The rope it had trailed snapped taut, dragging the trebuchet that had fired it off its makeshift supports.
“Back! Back!” yelled Dorian as the enormous catapult slid sideways across the bridge. Soldiers scattered from its path. With an animal groan, the big siege engine toppled over the edge and plunged into the mist.
Elodie waited to hear the sound of it crashing to earth, far below. But the sound never came.
“Five is enough!” shouted Fessan. “To work!”
A group of men wound handles on the trebuchets, pulling the ropes tight. A second group made their way hand over hand across the gap, their feet dangling over the bottomless abyss. Elodie’s heart rose into her mouth as she watched. When they reached the far side, they pulled on the ropes that had carried them there.
Slowly but surely, the uplifted tree-trunks of the catapults began to lower themselves across the divide.
“Elodie!” cried a voice from the open air to her left. It was Samial. “Look out!”
Instinctively, she shrank down into her saddle. A scant breath later an arrow flew through the air, narrowly missing her.
Where did that come from?
More arrows flew. Shouts followed them. Bowmen raced through the ranks to the end of the bridge. At least half were cut down before their arrows were out of their quivers. Elodie stared across the gap. All the men who’d crossed over were lying dead, their bodies skewered with arrows.
Her chest clenched with horror. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made them attack!
On the other side of the bridge, marching out of the misty air in which the distant castle was shrouded, came the soldiers of Idilliam.
“Retreat!” cried Fessan, drawing his sword and waving it so that it flashed in the sunlight. His horse reared, drawing on his panic. “They have us! Retreat!”
Confusion spread back through the line. There was no room to turn, and no time to re-form. Shields lifted up as the arrows of Idilliam showered down on the soldiers of Trident, but already too many lay dead on the ground.
So this is what it means to be queen, she thought wretchedly. When you make the wrong decision, people die.
An arrow grazed the back of her hand. She snatched it in, rubbing her knuckles.
His hand, she thought, it was solid . . .
In a rush, an idea came to her.
Now, she thought with utter clarity. The time is right!
Ignoring the rain of arrows, Elodie urged Discus through the confusion to the edge of the bridge.
“Samial!” she shouted. “Samial!”
He was there in an instant, his expression grim.
“What would you have us do?” he said.
“You can touch me,” said Elodie breathlessly.
“Yes, but . . .”
“Can you all do it? To all of us?”
“I do not understand. . . .”
Elodie bit her tongue, forcing her thoughts to slow themselves.
“Could a ghost lift up a man? Support his weight? Carry him?”
“Of course. But still I do not—”
“That’s all I needed to know! Bring your army, Samial. Have them gather beneath the gap in the bridge. Tell them to come close together—as close as they can”—Elodie glanced back at the Trident soldiers, who’d locked their shields together to form a protective skin—“and have them hold their shields over their heads.”
“But why . . . ?”
“Do it now!”
Spurring Discus away from the brink, she rode to where Fessan was trying to marshal his troops. The scar running down the side of his face blazed white against his flushed cheeks.
“Fessan!” she shouted. “Fessan! You must listen!”
“Why are you still here?” he cried. “We must get you to safety!”
“There’s no time and you know it. Now listen to your queen!”
Fessan’s mouth snapped shut.
“That’s better,” Elodie went on. “There’s a way across.”
Fessan shook his head. “‘I’m sorry, but I can’t—”
“You can and you will. Listen to me! We’re not alone here. Another army marches with us. A spirit army.” She pointed at the gap where even now Samial and Sir Jaken were urging their comrades into a dense cluster of horses and men. “You can’t see them, but I can. They are the ghosts of those Brutan betrayed in the War of Blood. And they have come to help us!”
Fessan’s eyes strained. “I see nothing,” he said.
“But you did. You did see something. That day when we were riding through the meadow. Don’t you remember? You saw the grass moving by itself. . . . You knew something was there, didn’t you?”
As she finished, the ghosts raised their shields above their heads. The sun passed straight through them, yet at the same time it seemed to reflect back off their phantom forms. To Elodie, it looked as though a sea of silver had formed itself between the two broken ends of the bridge.
“I see nothing,” Fessan repeated. Yet his expression told Elodie he wasn’t sure.
“I’ll prove it!” she said.
Sliding down from Discus’s saddle, she ran toward the end of the bridge. Horses jostled her on every side as she pushed her way through to the narrow space on the very brink of the chasm. Here, she stopped.
On the far side, some of the Idilliam bowmen pointed and shouted. Arrows whistled past her, but Elodie ignored them.
I’ve got to show him, she thought. I�
��ve got to make him believe me. It’s our only chance.
“Elodie!” Fessan shouted. “What are you doing?”
Closing her eyes, bunching her fists, Elodie leaped off the edge and out into space.
She flew, her feet dragging through empty air. In the space of a single breath, all her fears rose at once.
I was wrong. I’ve been wrong all this time. Samial isn’t real. The ghosts aren’t real. There is no ghost army; there are no voices.
I’m just a stupid, spoiled, crazy girl who deserves what I’m about to do.
Die . . .
With a dull thump, her feet landed on something solid. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the flat, silvery surface of an upraised shield. On the shield were a cross and a picture of a lion. Through the gap between the shield and its neighbor, she saw the face of an old man gazing up at her.
The old man winked.
An arrow dropped nearby, falling straight through the ranks of the phantom knights.
It fell into the abyss.
Elodie did not.
“Follow me!” she shouted to Trident, in a voice that didn’t feel like her own. “Come with me now!”
Without looking back, she strode out across the ghostly bridge. Ahead, the Idilliam archers lowered their bows and looked on, slack-jawed. To them—and to the men and women of Trident—it must have looked as though she were walking on empty air.
She wondered how long it would be before they started shooting again.
Then Fessan was following. He threw a shield and a sword forward to her.
With a sudden chill, she realized they were Palenie’s.
“I will follow you,” Fessan said. He glanced back. Tracking his gaze, Elodie saw a mass of soldiers dismounting and stepping out onto the ghostly bridge. “We will all follow you, my queen.”
The arrows began to fall again, but Elodie and Fessan raised their shields against them and pressed on.
“And you are just one,” Fessan added. “Imagine what Toronia might become when we have three.”
Palenie had been right. Beneath the grime and sweat of battle, Fessan’s eyes shone with wonder.
As they drew closer to the other side of the divide, an arrow slammed into Elodie’s shield. The impact drove a wave of shock through her arm and into her shoulder. She recoiled, the excitement she’d felt draining rapidly away. The arrows were real; the men waiting for them were real.
War was real.
Even as she thought this, the rain of arrows abated. Elodie risked a glance around her shield; were they bringing fresh archers up through the ranks? To her surprise, she saw the Idilliam men in disarray, scattering and raising their arms to the sky as if to ward off attack.
With a unified set of shrieking cries, the three thorrods plunged down onto the Idilliam soldiers, clawing at the backs of those who ran, plucking up those who remained and hurling them into the chasm. On the back of Theeta—the one with a gold breast to match her wings—rode Tarlan. His expression was one of absolute amazement.
“You’re flying!” he exclaimed, pulling his flying steed down to hover beside Elodie.
“Not exactly,” she replied. “What did you see?”
Tarlan shook his head, then seemed to compose himself. His face became worried.
“You’re heading into danger,” he said.
“I could have told you that.”
“That’s not what I mean. It’s not just Nynus we have to face. There’s another army. An army of . . . Elodie, they’re not even alive. They’re dead, but they walk.”
“Ghosts?” said Elodie.
“No. Not ghosts. Walking corpses. The undead.” Tarlan glanced at Fessan, who was listening intently. He took a deep breath. “King Brutan leads them.”
Cold dread crawled through Elodie’s bones.
“Our father is dead,” she whispered.
“He was,” Tarlan replied, holding her gaze. “Now he’s something else.”
A strange silence seemed to fall. For a moment, it was as if she and Tarlan were alone on the bridge. She searched her brother’s eyes, hoping desperately that he was mistaken. But she knew he was speaking the truth.
“There’s more,” Tarlan continued. “I saw our brother, Elodie. I saw Gulph.”
The coldness spread into Elodie’s arms, her legs, her chest. Her heart.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. He had a green jewel, like yours. Like mine . . .” Tarlan looked suddenly, desperately sad. Then his expression became fierce. “We must go back for him.”
“Yes!” Elodie started forward, only to find her way blocked by the huge flapping wings of the thorrod. “Let me pass, Tarlan! Let us all pass! We have to get into the city, don’t you see?”
Tarlan shook his head. “This isn’t going to work. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. The undead . . . our father . . . they’re too many.” He looked out across the sea of faces watching them. “If you cross this bridge, you’ll die.”
“No!” Elodie cried. “I won’t come this far only to turn back. I’m no coward, Tarlan, and I don’t believe you are either. If we leave Gulph now we might lose him forever!”
“Not Gulph. He’ll survive.”
Anger flared inside Elodie. “How can you possibly know that?”
“He’s safe for now,” Tarlan insisted. “I saw him . . . Elodie, there are strange powers at work in Idilliam. I saw our brother . . . I saw Gulph . . .”
“What? What did you see?”
“He became invisible.”
Elodie gasped. The soldiers close to them had heard too, and murmurs of surprise rippled over the clink of bridles, the shouts of the enemy, the thin roar of distant fighting.
“Even so,” she said, “we have to go to him.”
Now anger flashed in Tarlan’s eyes. “I’m telling you, none of your army will make it out of there alive. Is that what you want?”
Before Elodie could snap back in reply, Fessan had stepped between her and the hovering thorrod.
“We haven’t time for debate,” he said. “We must press forward across Elodie’s bridge while we can. If the prophecy is meant to be, your brother will live.”
Theeta reared in the air. Fessan stood unmoved in the blast from her wings. Tarlan glared down at him, his black eyes darkening even further. “Be very careful how you speak about my brother!”
Fessan turned to Elodie. “Princess, you have led us this far. What do you say? Command it, and I will obey.”
Elodie looked from Fessan to her brother and back again. This was worse than when she’d had to decide between staying in the Weeping Woods with Samial and going with Trident. She felt the weight of her whole life pressing down on her.
Why are these decisions always down to me?
She brought down her shield. Its metal rim scraped against the blade of her sword.
Palenie’s shield. Palenie’s sword.
For what had Palenie died if not for this? Why were they here, if not to find Gulph and take Idilliam, the realm of the crown?
She looked her brother in the eye.
“Our father is not the only one with an undead army,” she announced.
Tarlan’s eyes widened. He stared first at Elodie’s face, then down at her feet. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“You will, but in the meantime”—Elodie raised her sword—“Trident attacks!”
CHAPTER 30
Slowly, Gulph clambered to his feet. Equally slowly, he backed away from the swaying corpse of his father. The undead king stood with his arms outstretched and his ruined head cocked to one side, as if he were listening for something. Inside his exposed rib cage, unspeakable things squirmed. The red flames in his eyes pulsed.
Gulph took another step backward. Why had Brutan stopped? Those giant birds had beaten back the front ranks of his army, but the king himself had remained unchallenged. So why wasn’t he closing in on Gulph, seizing his throat like he’d done to the others?
Why was Brutan now turnin
g away from Gulph?
His feet struck the outstretched arm of a fallen soldier and he glanced down, anxious not to fall over his manacles again. He saw the dead man’s clutching hand, the pale soil . . . and nothing else.
I can’t see my feet.
Stunned, Gulph raised his arms. His eyes saw only empty air. He ran his fingers down his sleeves, staring at the place where his hands should have been.
His hands weren’t there.
An undead warrior lurched past Brutan, heading straight for the fallen Captain Ossilius. But Ossilius was already standing, lifting up a shield he’d found on the ground and using it to fend off his attacker’s blows. At the same time he looked around wildly.
“Gulph!” he shouted, staring right at the place where Gulph was standing. “Gulph! Where are you?”
Gulph thought back to the boy who’d been flying with the giant birds. Just as they’d swooped in, the bird he’d been riding had reached out its claws . . . then suddenly retracted them. Gulph hadn’t gotten a good look at the boy’s face as he’d flown past at speed, but he was sure the lad’s jaw had been wide open in surprise.
He can’t see me—none of them can! I’m invisible!
He spat. His mouth felt full of sand, although nothing came out. His head felt hot and dry. He’d felt like this before, back in the banqueting hall of Castle Tor, shortly after he’d . . .
. . . after I killed my father.
A moment of crisis.
An animal urge to run from danger.
To disappear.
He remembered the look on Pip’s face as they’d met in those dreadful moments following the king’s death. The look of surprise, as if she’d not noticed he was there.
He’d felt that way then, experienced that same peculiar desert feeling in his nose and throat.
The undead warrior was still raining blows on Ossilius. Little by little, he was being beaten back.
“Hey!” shouted Gulph. “Over here!”
As Ossilius’s attacker looked up, Gulph grabbed a stone—so strange to see it floating in front of him, carried in invisible fingers—and hurled it at the warrior. It went straight through the undead creature’s cheek, making a hideous squelching sound as it pierced its rotten flesh.
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