The Lost Castle (5 page)

General Wargrach ran through the stony wilderness, his chest hurting, his muscles burning. His teeth were bared in a fierce grin as he imagined getting his claws on the throat of Ollamon's son.

Wargrach had to admit he was no longer the young saur he used to be. His hand-picked soldiers were younger, fresher, less battle-scarred. But he was not about to let them see him labouring.

He promised himself that Ollamon's son would pay for leading them through this cursed rocky wasteland. He leaped from a flat boulder to the ground then scrambled over a jumbled fall of stone.

A few hours earlier, Wargrach had ordered the troops to leave the riding beasts behind. He knew they could run faster than they could lead beasts through the rocky maze. His troops had muttered about the waste of fresh meat but had not dared to disobey the great General Wargrach.

'Sir!'

A tall saur leaped up and Wargrach recognised Dorgan, the chief warhound handler. Wargrach stopped and glared at him. It gave him some pleasure to see the youngster panting and holding his side. 'Sir!' Dorgan said. He paused, caught his breath, and propped himself up with his tail. 'The warhounds! They've seen the prey. The handlers are having trouble holding them back!'

Wargrach cocked his head. As he did, the rest of the troop caught up with him. Try as they might, they could not hide their struggle for breath. Several bent at the waist, sucking in huge lungfuls of air.

'Good,' he said to Dorgan. The handler eased his stance, then Wargrach narrowed his eyes. 'The warhounds. They'll leave the prey alive?'

Dorgan shifted on his tail. 'I . . . well . . .' He swallowed. 'Warhounds are difficult, sir. I can't be sure what they'll leave.'

Wargrach bared his teeth. 'You should hope they leave enough for me.'

* * *

Adalon tried to remember the lessons his father had given him, how to lead troops and help them overcome their fear. He tried to recall the words of the books he had read, full of famous battles and great heroes.

I wish a few of those heroes were here
, he thought as he scanned the ground ahead for the best defensive position.

Pursued by a general in the Queen's Army. Warhounds on their trail. No home to return to. None of it seemed real. What was real was his pounding heart and the way his tail wouldn't keep still.

He glanced at Simangee and Targesh. Simangee's face was determined. Targesh was swinging his axe, his feet planted solidly on the ground. Adalon knew of Targesh's skill with weapons through their hours of practice and mock battles together. He was glad to have him by his side.

He sought comfort in the Way of the Claw, but the lessons skittered away from him.

They followed the rough path around a large boulder. A high shelf of rocks rose on one side of the path and on the other a stream clattered down the hillside. 'Here,' Adalon declared. 'This is the place.'

Targesh looked around then nodded. 'Yes.' Simangee and Adalon tethered their riding beasts to a straggly bush.

Adalon unsheathed his sword. It was battered and heavy and its blade was spotted with rust. Adalon sighed and remembered the fine steel blade that had been his fifteenth birthday present.

'Don't look so disgusted,' Simangee said sharply. 'We didn't have much time before we fled Challish. We were lucky to find anything.'

The howls came again, closer this time; the riding beasts snorted and stamped. Adalon drummed his claws on the flat of his blade. It rang. 'They'll come around the boulder. You and I will use the bow for as long as we can, Sim. When they close in, I'll change to the sword. You stand behind Targesh and me and keep shooting over our shoulders.' Targesh was no archer, because of his large neck shield. He'd always made fun of bows, but Adalon knew he'd be grateful if the arrows could bring down a few warhounds before they closed.

'You have a sword, too?' Adalon asked Simangee.

'Of course.' She slapped the scabbard by her side. 'It may be light, but it should do the job. If they get past you two.'

'They won't,' Targesh said.

Adalon selected two dozen arrows and jammed them into the earth in front of him. He took his shield and propped it on a rock to his left with his sword.

Simangee clicked her tongue nervously. 'I'll make a song about this, once it's over.'

If we survive
, Adalon thought, but did not say aloud.

Targesh pointed. 'They come.'

A dozen long, skinny animals came bounding around the rock toward them. Adalon shuddered at their dead grey hides and their slavering jaws. Needle teeth filled their mouths. Their eyes were small, red-rimmed and squinty.
Ugly
, he thought, and he gripped his bow tighter.

When the warhounds saw their prey a fresh chorus of howls went up, rising and changing pitch until the sound raked at the air. 'Ready,' Adalon said, and was pleased that his voice was steady. 'Now!

The bowstring snapped past his cheek. As soon as the arrow was on its way, Adalon had nocked another and was picking a target. A shrieking yelp and one of the leading warhounds tumbled and didn't get up. Adalon grimaced when its packmates simply trampled it. One paused an instant to snatch a bite from the fallen hound's neck. Adalon steadied and loosed an arrow that took the hungry brute right in the throat.

Simangee was matching Adalon shaft for shaft. She didn't miss.

Adalon had time for three more arrows before the leading warhounds were on them. Targesh stepped forward, swinging his axe and bellowing. He took down two on the forestroke, and another on the backswing. One warhound, braver than the rest, flung itself at Targesh, who lowered his head, caught the beast on one horn and swung it high into the air. Adalon dropped his bow and whipped out his sword just in time to thrust it over Targesh's axe and impale a wild-eyed horror that was trying to get to his friend.

Targesh grunted and kicked, freeing his axe. Soon, he was swinging his weapon like a scythe through grass. Adalon dragged his sword from the body of the warhound and slashed as another sprang at him. It screamed and Adalon turned, slapped it aside with his tail, then slit its throat with his thumb-claw. Behind him, Simangee's bow was humming. 'Beware!' she cried. 'More!'

Around the boulder swarmed the main pack of warhounds.
A score, thirty, maybe more
, Adalon thought numbly. His sword arm was already aching. He sheathed his gory blade and seized his bow again. As fast as he could, he sent arrows winging toward the horrible, slavering beasts. He tried to be as accurate as Simangee, who brought death with each shaft.

As this next wave of warhounds surged toward them, Targesh held his axe in one hand and heaved stones, aiming to break skulls and legs.

Too soon, the pack was on them. Adalon used his shield as a weapon, crashing it against the narrow heads of the beasts, stunning them until he could use his sword. The world became a blur of snarls, screams, thrusts, hacks and blood.

All the while, Simangee sent shaft after deadly shaft over Adalon's shoulder. The mound of dead warhounds grew in front of them.

A drooling pair of jaws lunged at Adalon and he rammed the shield edge upwards. Then he slashed the hound's neck with a handful of claws.

'Fall back,' Simangee gasped. 'More coming!'

Bellowing, Targesh shook his neck shield. Blood dripped from his horns as he brandished his axe. At this formidable sight, the warhounds paused, slinking low to the ground and snarling. Their ears were laid back and great, ropy threads of drool hung from their jaws.

Together, Adalon and Targesh shuffled backward.

'Can you hold for a moment?' Simangee asked.

'Yes,' Targesh growled.

Adalon panted and leaned on his shield. His shoulders were aching. The sword hung heavy in his hand.
This is battle? This isn't what the stories tell of!
he thought.
Where's the glory? The adventure?
He shook himself and suddenly understood that stories weren't always about the truth.
Tell the truth about battle
, he thought,
and no-one would ever want to be a warrior.

'Good,' said Simangee. 'I think it's time for a spell.'

'You have spells?' Adalon almost turned around, but at that moment the warhounds growled. It was a deep, throaty noise that was full of hunger and desire. There was no mercy in that sound, no pity at all.

The leaders of the pack crouched low and started to creep forward.

'I kept some for emergencies,' Simangee said. 'I believe this is such a time.'

Adalon heard the sound of glass clinking on glass. Then something flew over his shoulder and arced toward the warhounds.

'Get down!' Simangee cried. She dragged both Adalon and Targesh to the ground.

Adalon landed painfully on his tail and his elbow cracked on a flat stone. He hissed with pain and his head jerked up.

The spell vial smashed in front of the warhounds.
Its shattered remains glittered in the sun like jewels, but Adalon's stomach turned at what was rising from the shards.

It was a greasy cloud the colour of spoiled milk. It swelled and grew, writhing as if it were in pain. To Adalon's eyes it looked diseased. He wasn't surprised it smelled like rotten meat.

'What is it?' he gasped. Targesh spat on the ground and rumbled in his chest.

'I don't know,' Simangee said. 'I found the vial lodged behind some books Hoolgar sent me looking for in the library at High Battilon. It said, "Danger". I thought it was for use
against
danger.'

The warhounds were cringing. Their bellies low to the ground, they tried to slink away from the greasy cloud. It quivered and Adalon thought it was looking more solid. Some of the warhounds whined.

'I don't like that thing,' Adalon said. 'But it has the warhounds' attention. Let us go while we can.'

They scrambled to their feet. As they did, the cloud drew itself up in front of the warhounds. With a horrible croaking sound, it fell on the cowering beasts.

'To the riding beasts!' Adalon cried and he knew that, as long as he lived, he would never forget the shrieking sound the warhounds made at that moment.

He sheathed his sword and pushed his friends ahead of him. Behind him, the howls of the war-hounds turned to sharp, despairing yips. They cut off one by one until a final, gurgling squeal was left. Then it, too, stopped.

When they reached the riding beasts, Adalon risked a glance back.

The stinking cloud had grown into a tall, conical shape, swaying and twisting over a patch of bright red earth. There was no sign of the warhounds.

What is that thing?
Adalon wondered. He knew it was magic, but it was magic of a foul and desperate kind. Looking at it upset him deeply. It was unnatural,
wrong
in a way that offended his very soul.

The cloud stopped its swaying. Across the distance separating them, Adalon was sure that the cloud was looking at him. He felt sick as its gaze slid across him; it was as if something unclean had crawled across his face.

He blinked and hissed. The cloud was coming toward them!

Adalon strapped his shield onto the saddle, then seized the reins of his riding beast. 'Faster!'

Targesh and Simangee were hurrying ahead, urging and leading her riding beast, but they turned at the fear in Adalon's voice. Their eyes opened wide as they saw the cloud rolling toward them with the speed of a summer storm.

Adalon ducked and the cloud whipped past him and toward the others. His riding beast reared and squealed. Targesh cursed but the cloud seemed to ignore him. Instead, it surged at Simangee.

'Sim!' Adalon cried. He watched, helplessly, as the cloud launched itself at his friend. But before the stinking thing reached her, it swerved and shot skywards faster than an arrow. Adalon was thanking the stars but as it flew past Simangee it lashed out, striking her upraised hand.

The cloud raced into the sky, growing smaller and smaller as it went. Simangee stood, holding one hand in the other. She looked puzzled, deep in thought.

Adalon gave the reins of his riding beast to Targesh and went to Simangee's side. 'Are you hurt?'

'Foul thing,' Targesh said.

Adalon put a hand on Simangee's shoulder. As soon as he did, her eyes closed and she collapsed.

Adalon caught her just as she fell. Targesh hurried over and together they eased her to the ground. Targesh looked at Simangee, then at Adalon, concern and worry on his face.

'Hand me the water bottle, Targesh,' Adalon snapped.

Adalon lifted the bottle to Simangee's mouth. Her eyes still closed, Simangee swallowed a little of the water. She tried to bat the bottle away, and she mumbled a few sentences in a language Adalon had never heard before. The sound of it made him shudder.

Targesh looked up. 'Wargrach. He can't be far behind.' He stood and went to the riding beasts.

Adalon gently shook his insensible friend. 'Sim! Wake up! We must go!'

Simangee opened her eyes. Adalon hissed and drew back at what he saw.

Simangee closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them again. 'Adalon.'

'Welcome back,' Adalon said. His voice was shaky and he studied her face.
It's her
, he decided.
He felt his claws digging into his palms and realised he was afraid.

When Simangee had opened her eyes the first time it was as if something else was behind them. Cold and distant, it had stared at Adalon as if he were a tiny, unimportant thing.
Old
, he thought,
whatever it was, it was old
. He shuddered again and covered it up by fussing over Simangee, patting her, feeling the scales on her forehead, insisting that she sip from the water bottle. While he did all this, he peered at his friend, looking for the intruder that he'd glimpsed in her eyes, but all he could see was a confused and frightened Simangee.

'Is it gone?' she asked as Adalon helped her stand. She swayed and he steadied her. He didn't like the way her arms hung limply nor the way her tail didn't support her when she sagged.

'Yes,' he said. 'Whatever it was. It flew away to the east.' He looked to the sky again and wondered if he had spoken the truth.
Simangee
, he thought,
what have you let loose?

'It was evil,' she said. 'Something from long ago, formed of mighty magic.' She trembled. 'I felt as if I was screaming but no-one could hear me.'

'It's gone now,' Adalon repeated. 'We must go. General Wargrach and his troops aren't far away.'

'Lead on. I'm well enough.'