Then she strides out of the fortress into the full light of day.
Falling in behind her, Noble feels a slight sense of discomfort. It may be because he’s unarmed and barefoot at the head of a military procession. It may be because he can hear Rufus chattering away in the rear, asking a couple of guards called Flummocks and Sooterkin if they really want to be soldiers. Or it may be because there are plans that need making—and Noble doesn’t quite know how to make them.
As Lorellina lifts her face to the sky, he realizes that he, too, is about to confront something vast and free and formless: namely, the future. Once his existence was a series of on-the-spot decisions, with life or death at the end of each one. Now his choices are less clear. It’s all so new, he doesn’t know what to think.
Maybe Rufus will be able to help him.
“Where is the sun?” asks Lorellina, halting in the center of the drawbridge. The troops at her heels also stop, blinking in the unaccustomed glare.
“The sun’s behind those clouds,” Noble replies.
“Oh.” Lorellina sounds disappointed. “Are the clouds always here?”
“I don’t know.” He tries to recollect. “I don’t think so.…”
“How big it is! The outside world. It makes me feel …”—she pauses—“… very small,” she concludes.
Noble glances down at her. “You are small,” he can’t help pointing out.
For some reason, this isn’t well received. “Small in stature, perhaps,” she growls, flushing. Then she points. “Are those the gargoyles?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will give them the freedom of the sky,” she announces.
As she sets off again, Noble peers back over his shoulder. He sees that Rufus is at the very end of the parade, deep in conversation with one of the potato-headed, shell-backed guards. Noble frowns. He hopes that Rufus doesn’t persuade the whole garrison to lay down its arms. Not yet, anyway. Not until they’re absolutely sure that the mysterious “enemy agent” won’t be showing up.
But then again, Rufus hasn’t put a foot wrong yet. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing. Noble tells himself that if Rufus isn’t worried, none of them should be. So far, Noble’s faith in Rufus has been well founded.
“You, there! Gargoyle!” Having reached the first black plinth, Lorellina is addressing the creature chained to it. “What is your name?”
The gargoyle opens its yellow eyes. It looks vaguely like a winged warthog, with its curly tusks, hairy crest, and leathery snout.
“I have no name,” it creaks.
“Then I shall give you one.” The princess lays a finger on her chin and ponders for a moment. “You will be called Doddypoll,” she finally decides. “Doddypoll Scrumping.”
Doddypoll stares at her in astonishment—and Noble wonders if she might have been the one responsible for naming all the guards.
“Doddypoll,” she continues, “I am Princess Lorellina, your liege lady, and I am here to set you free.”
There’s a sudden snapping of wings all along the road. Noble can hear the gargoyles hissing to one another from plinth to plinth. The princess must hear them, too, because she loudly declares, “I have come to set you all free, for a new age is upon this land—a golden age of justice and liberty!”
“Uh—Princess?” A low voice interrupts her. Dropping his gaze, Noble sees that Rufus is tugging at Lorellina’s gown. “Could I just have a word with those guys for one minute?”
Though Lorellina is startled, she yields with good grace. “Of course,” she says. Rufus promptly steps in front of her to address the corridor of gargoyles in a piercing, high-pitched voice.
“Okay, you guys—now, as you can see, we’ve kept our promise. We said we’d get you released and we have. But one good turn deserves another.” He shakes his hair out of his eyes and pinions the nearest gargoyle with a glare. “I know you won’t be dumb enough to start misbehaving when we let you go. I know you realize that if you start causing trouble, Lord Harrowmage will simply chain you up again. Right? Huh? Are we all agreed on that?”
There’s a brief silence. At last, Doddypoll speaks up.
“Yes,” he squawks, sparking an echo that runs down the double line of gargoyles. Yes … yes … yesssss …
“So I’m not asking you to be good, because that’s a given,” Rufus explains. “What I’m asking for is a volunteer. We need one of you to take a message to the clan caves of Thanehaven. It’s an important message about peace in our time and it’s something you should be proud to carry.” He scans the matched rows of attentive, scaly heads. “Any takers?” he asks.
After another pause, Doddypoll says hoarsely, “I will.”
“Are you sure?” Rufus seems to have some misgivings. “Can you really handle this? Because it’s a long way to go and a lot to remember.”
“I can go. I can remember,” Doddypoll assures him. “Tell me what to say and I will say it.”
Rufus nods. Then he steps back with a smile and a wave, relinquishing center stage to the princess once more. “Right,” he says. “Let’s see if this works, okay?”
Lorellina takes a deep breath. Brandishing her key like a flag, she tells Doddypoll to bow down before her so that she may “remove the iron collar of enslavement and replace it with the yoke of honor and duty.” There’s a flurry of displaced air as the gargoyle launches itself off the stone plinth, wings beating, chain swinging. Noble finds himself retreating a few steps, to give the creature a bit of room.
Doddypoll hits the ground so hard that Noble feels the impact in his bones.
Lorellina then stoops gracefully to unlock the gargoyle’s iron collar, which hits the cobbles with a ringing clang. But before Doddypoll can do more than rear up, wings flapping, Noble seizes the discarded chain. He throws it around the gargoyle’s neck and pulls the loop tight, dragging Doddypoll back down to earth again.
“Wait. You haven’t heard our message,” he warns.
The gargoyle stares at him blankly. Though it doesn’t bow its head or fold its wings, it doesn’t try to bite or buck, either. So Noble feels safe enough to ease his grip on its chain.
Using his right hand, he yanks the heraldic ring off his left pinky finger. Then he slips the ring onto one of Doddypoll’s tusks.
“Take this ring,” he orders. “It bears my seal, and is proof that my message comes directly from me. Tell the Conclave of Clans that Lord Harrowmage has received me like a son, because he has no quarrel with Thanehaven. Tell them that Princess Lorellina is at one with Lord Harrowmage, and that they desire peace and freedom for all their subjects. Tell them that the Fortress of Bone has opened its doors, and the gargoyles of Harrow have been released from bondage.…”
Noble is concentrating so hard on his speech that he isn’t aware, at first, that Doddypoll’s attention is beginning to stray. At last, however, Noble hears the noise that’s making so many ears prick and heads turn. It’s a strange, distant, buzzing sound, which becomes harsher as it grows louder.
Something large and monstrous seems to be advancing toward them down the cobbled road.
“Do you know what that is?” Noble asks the princess, who doesn’t respond. She simply stands there with her hands on her hips, squinting into the distance.
“Does it belong to Lord Harrowmage?” Noble presses. “Can you stop it?”
“I don’t think so.” She lifts a hand to shade her eyes. “I’ve never seen it before. Is it a carriage?”
“Maybe.” Noble can now make out that the thing approaching them has wheels. Its back half is shiny and white, like a tooth, while most of its front portion is made of glass. “It doesn’t look like a creature.…”
“Whatever it is, it has been given no wayleave.” Lorellina turns to address the guards behind her. “Block the road!” she commands, just as the approaching object grinds to a halt. It squeals, chokes, and sighs. Then it falls silent.
The guards hesitate.
“Wait,” Lorellina says to them. Noble l
ooks around for Rufus, who might be able to explain. But Rufus has vanished.
Clunk! Part of the newly arrived object—a wing or a flap—pops open, leaving a giant hole in its side. When someone climbs out of this hole, Noble realizes that the flap is actually a door.
“I think you’re right,” he admits. “That thing must be a carriage. A magic carriage.”
“Where is Rufus?” The princess glances over her shoulder again. “Rufus?”
“He’s gone,” says Noble. “I don’t know where.”
The man who emerges from the carriage is short and solid, with slicked-back hair and no beard. He’s wearing a long white coat over gray pants; his shoes are as black and shiny as his hair, and he has a square, bland, small-featured face. Though he’s very neat and quiet, something about him reminds Noble of Rufus.
“Who are you?” Lorellina demands. “What do you want?”
The newcomer doesn’t reply. Instead, he walks toward her, between two rows of staring gargoyles that shift uneasily as he passes. He’s holding a small black book.
When he’s just a few paces away, Noble barks, “Stop right there!”
The newcomer stops. He studies Noble intently, his gaze skipping from one empty hand to the other before dropping to Noble’s bare feet.
Then he reaches into the breast pocket of his white coat and pulls out a pen.
“Are you deaf?” the princess demands. “Did you hear me? I asked you a question.” Seeing the newcomer make a note in his book, she adds, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for a piece of malware named Rufus,” the newcomer informs her, in a quiet, flat, bloodless voice. “Do you know where I can find Rufus?”
Lorellina glances at Noble, who gives an almost imperceptible shake of the head. It’s occurred to him that this might be Rufus’s “enemy agent.”
“No,” says Noble quite truthfully. “We don’t know where you can find Rufus.”
The newcomer grunts. By now he’s fixed his attention on Lorellina’s key.
After considering it for a moment, he makes another entry in his little black book.
“You must state your business,” the princess insists. Upon receiving no answer, she tries another tack. “What is this ‘malware’ of which you speak?”
The newcomer’s response is to jerk his chin at Doddypoll, saying, “Does your cousin know that you’ve released his gargoyle?”
Lorellina stiffens. “Why should that concern you?” she snaps, shaking back her springy red locks. “Who are you to interrogate Princess Lorellina of Harrow?”
The newcomer regards her impassively. Then he flicks his book shut.
“Well?” she continues. “Speak!”
“Thanks for your help,” the newcomer remarks. He tucks his pen back into his breast pocket. “That’s all I need, for the present.”
“Wait!” she cries. “Wait!” But he’s already turned his back on her. And as he retraces his steps, head down, he produces a very small, flat object from somewhere on his person, tapping away at it with one finger like a man rapping at a blocked hourglass.
Noble removes the chain from Doddypoll’s snout. “Go,” he orders quietly. “Now. Go to the clan caves and deliver my message.” He doesn’t bother to watch the gargoyle fly away, though he does feel the air churn under its beating wings. Instead, he spins around and grabs Lorellina, who’s about to follow the man in the white coat. “No,” he murmurs. “Come inside.”
“Unhand me!”
“Look.” Noble points at the newcomer. “Look at him. He doesn’t belong here.”
“But—”
“There are people who’ll try to keep all the power for themselves. Don’t you remember what Rufus told us?”
“Rufus is gone,” Lorellina hisses.
“Exactly.” Noble is keeping his voice low. “He’s gone because that man is hunting for him. If Rufus is afraid of that man, then that man must be our enemy, too.”
The princess frowns. “Why?” she asks, baffled.
“Because Rufus wants to set us free.”
The man in the white coat has reached his carriage. He pauses for an instant by the open door, talking to the small, flat object that he’s pressed to one ear. Noble wonders if it’s some kind of charm or talisman.
“Quick!” he orders, rounding on the guards. “Fall back! Back inside!”
“But the gargoyles!” Lorellina waves her key. “What about them?”
“Later. We’ll release them later.”
“But he’s just one man—”
“Your cousin is just one man, and he can summon up a pillar of blood,” Noble reminds her. Then he jerks his chin at her escort, which hasn’t moved. “Tell them to fall back,” he begs.
“No.” The princess wrenches herself free. “I gave my word. I will release the gargoyles.”
She strides forward, past the empty plinth, but the man in the white coat doesn’t react. He just climbs into his carriage, which then rolls off the road through a chunk of thorn hedge, before abruptly stopping.
“Princess.” Noble joins Lorellina beside the next gargoyle. “Let me do this. You go inside where it’s safe.”
“These are my subjects,” she retorts. “I am here to protect them. How can I put my own safety above theirs?”
Frustrated, Noble points at the newcomer. “Princess, will you look at that man? He’s waiting! He’s put away his talisman and now he’s waiting!”
Lorellina can’t resist; she takes a quick peek. “For what?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Reinforcements?”
“You there! Stranger!” She raises her voice suddenly. “Go now, before I have you expelled! What are you waiting for?”
The man opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have to reply. Because at that very instant, Noble hears a low rumble like distant thunder.
And he realizes that reinforcements are, indeed, on their way.
CHAPTER SIX
The second magic carriage is much bigger than the first. It’s almost as wide as the road, with at least a dozen massive wheels sitting under a long white box. The window in front is set high—higher than Noble can reach.
It’s amazing that something so big can come barreling down the road so quickly.
“Fall back!” Noble yells, over the roar of the approaching monster. “Everyone fall back!”
This time, nobody argues—not even Lorellina. She lets Noble drag her toward the fortress, though she stumbles a few times as she tries to match his pace. The guards retreat clumsily. Their armor is weighing them down, so it’s not long before Noble finds himself closing in on them.
He suddenly feels wood beneath his feet instead of cobblestones. By now, the noise is deafening. Whatever that thing might be, it’s breathing hot air down his neck. When the drawbridge gives an odd little bounce, he knows that the first set of oversized wheels must have rolled onto it.
“The drawbridge!” Lorellina bawls. “We can’t raise the drawbridge!”
Noble hesitates, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, the giant carriage is right behind him. But the snap and crunch of stressed wood makes it stop; if it goes any farther, the drawbridge might collapse under its weight.
“Halt!” bellows Noble. He has to pitch his voice high over the sound of the pursuing behemoth, which is squealing and groaning and hissing as it grinds to a standstill. “Guards! Fall in! Wait!”
“Wait!” screeches the princess. Her escort stops, so abruptly that Noble almost slams into it.
He wrenches the nearest poleax from its owner’s grip.
“We have to stand fast,” he declares. “We have to hold this position.” Then he tells Lorellina, “Go inside. Get reinforcements.”
“What?” She sounds stunned.
“Alert the garrison! We need more men!” He can’t believe she hasn’t worked this out for herself. “If we can’t close the drawbridge, we’ll have to form a defensive line!”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.�
� But she lingers, her gaze shifting back to the thing on the drawbridge. “It’s not moving,” she points out. “It’s not making any noise.” The words have barely left her mouth when a drawn-out cre-e-eak is followed by a short, sharp bang.
Noble decides that someone has just pushed open a large door at the rear of the giant carriage.
“Go! Go!” he yelps.
Lorellina goes. She flings herself at the guards—who part like a curtain to let her through—then gallops off into the shadowy gatehouse, hoisting up her skirts. Noble, meanwhile, has spun around to face whatever might be about to hit him. He’s in the middle of the drawbridge, braced for action and gripping the poleax with both hands. The guards begin to line up on either side of him, shoulder to shoulder in neat formation.
Even without his boots on, he towers over them.
“Whoever you are, you will not pass!” he booms. “Not unless you show just cause!”
In the brief silence that follows, he can hear the sound of footsteps. But he’s distracted from this rhythmic crunch-crunch-crunch by a sudden burst of movement as a gargoyle explodes into the sky, shooting up from behind the big white carriage like a boulder flung by a war machine. Even though it can’t possibly be Doddypoll, this creature looks exactly the same—right down to its curly warthog tusks.
Noble is confused. He watches the gargoyle dive and bank, then fly off toward Thanehaven. It soars like an eagle, rarely moving its wings. Soon, it’s just a dark speck against the brooding clouds.
How could it have freed itself without Lorellina’s key?
“Ahem,” says a voice.
Noble lets his gaze drop. Then his jaw drops, too.
He’s staring at a clone. A double. An exact replica. He’s staring at another Noble, who sports his own huge shoulders and narrow waist, his own chiseled features, his own level ice-blue glower and sun-streaked hair. Even the man’s scars and studded wristbands are the same as his.
The only difference is that the false Noble is wearing boots—and carrying a Tritus in his right hand.
“What—who …?” Noble stammers.
Saving Thanehaven Page 5