The Missing Kin Read online

  Half a dozen saur were lazily wielding their swords. He scowled at their sloppy bladework. He decided to thrash them, later. They'd be better off for it.

  Wargrach studied the walls of the castle. High Battilon was not large, but it was well made, with a number of deep wells. It had never been taken by siege or by assault. It was a strong base for his plans.

  Power. Wargrach curled his hands so his claws cut into his palms. While he was general of all Queen Tayesha's armies he had had power. When he failed to bring back the fugitive Adalon of the Eastern Peaks and then lost a battalion at Sleeto, his power had vanished like smoke on a windy day.

  He smiled his broken smile. Here, he would regain some of it. It was a toehold, a beginning. Soon he would be ready; soon he would be on his way to regaining greatness and to restoring the heritage of the saur.

  He gnashed his teeth and ignored the many pains of his scarred and battered body. The days of blood and glory were coming; he could feel it.

  Four

  Queen Tayesha stood proud and tall on the dais overlooking the parade ground. Armour shone brightly, great crests and plumes bobbed, marching feet stepped in perfect unison, a thousand young saur officers held weapons aloft and cheered as they passed. She raised a claw in salute and the cheering redoubled.

  One of the generals at her side – a Plated One, Tayesha could never remember his name – cleared his throat. 'A brave display, Your Majesty. Eager and ready to do your bidding, they are.'

  She stifled a sigh. Empty words from an uninspiring leader. She glanced at the other generals, who weren't much better. Puffed up, ambitious, unimaginative and suspicious. Wargrach was worth ten of them, despite his failing at Sleeto. A hundred of them.

  Tayesha took some pleasure in the parade of new officers, who were followed by the ten new battalions she had ordered to be commissioned. Rank on rank of Plated Ones, Toothed Ones, Horned Ones, Clawed Ones and more – all trained and outfitted with the finest armour and weapons the forges of Thraag could produce. These fine young saur were the instruments of her destiny. Through their efforts, all seven kingdoms of Krangor would be united.

  She ignored the grumbles of the generals as they stood with her in the hot sun for the fourth hour on end. She could have released them, but she chose not to. If they couldn't endure the discomfort of a parade, how would they survive the rigours of a long and dangerous campaign? She straightened and let her soldiers see their queen.

  ***

  Later that day, Tayesha was in the Needle, the tallest tower of the Gralloch Palace, glad of the refuge her study provided from the hurly-burly of the palace.

  Tayesha sighed and wrote in her journal. It pains me to think that the saur in the other kingdoms do not see the wisdom in submitting to Thraag. There would be no need for armies at all if they willingly joined us under my rule. A united Krangor – is that too much to ask?

  She put down the quill and sanded her writing. She glanced at the official reply from the King of Callibeen. It lay where she had thrown it on the floor. She'd offered King Hulgor the opportunity to step down and cede his throne to Thraag. His scornful response had sent her Clawed One blood boiling. Raging, she'd slashed it with her claws. To think that that overweight, pompous, pitiful excuse for a Billed One had dared to question her state of mind! She'd never forgive King Hulgor or his people – never!

  Closing her eyes, Tayesha tried to slow her racing heart. After a moment or two, her hands were steady enough to resume writing.

  A united Krangor cannot be achieved simply through force of arms. To bring the seven kingdoms together will require mighty magic which, in turn, will make an immortal ruler.

  Tayesha frowned. Her plans had not been proceeding smoothly on that front. The spells needed to achieve her ends were complex and obscure, and there was much she still had not discovered. She had worked long and hard, putting together fragments and shards of spells discovered in ancient texts, but the full and complete ritual still eluded her. She put down her quill and closed her journal.

  Standing, Tayesha called the power of the land to her. It had never been far away, ever since her coronation day long ago. The land was her foundation.

  Immediately, a radiant globe of brilliant white light flared on each of her claws. The globes merged, until two tiny suns enveloped each hand.

  Tayesha stared at the twin fires without blinking. Slowly, she brought them together, intertwining her claws. The two globes became a single ball of light and she felt the power of the land in her bones.

  This was the power that only the rulers of the seven kingdoms knew. With it, Tayesha had the strength, the endurance and the solidity of the land. She could not be moved if she did not want to be. She could delve into the land, finding the riches beneath. She could open great chasms and make the earth shudder – although she had to admit that such displays of might had become more difficult as she had aged.

  She put a hand to her throat and felt the loose skin there. The years were closing in. Her quest for immortality was an urgent one.

  She placed her hands together and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was in another place.

  It was utterly black, a darkness profound and deep. It did not trouble her, because her magically enhanced eyes could see as clearly as if it were day.

  She was in a chamber in the heart of the earth, leagues beneath the surface. This ancient place, a sanctuary and a place of meditation deep in the embrace of the land, was only known to the rulers of Thraag. Pillars grew out of the solid rock like trees. Archways, shelves and tables looked as if they had been formed in place rather than carved. It was a private place – quiet, silent, cool. The smell of mineral-rich moisture came from a large pool at the far end and its gentle lapping was the only sound.

  Confident in the absolute blackness, knowing she was welcome in this most secret place, Tayesha crossed to a granite table. On it was a collection of books and writing materials. The books varied in sizes, colours and ages, and Tayesha smiled sadly as she remembered that it was Wargrach who had brought some of the most useful volumes to her. Slips of paper protruded from them, marking important pages.

  She picked up The Land and the Saur, a rare volume from Bondorborar, and began reading. She spent some time looking for a reference to the connection between rulers and the ruled. Somewhere, she remembered, it referred to a ceremony attempted in the rule of Queen Silminac. She had perished, but it was rumoured that she, too, had been striving for immortality.

  Tayesha put her head in her hands. Alone in the darkness, her destiny was a heavy weight and she wondered if she were strong enough to bear it. If she couldn't solve the mystery of the ritual of unification, Krangor was in peril, made unstable by the events that she had unleashed. Her people would lose everything and she would lose her chance at immortality.

  For a moment, she was on the verge of despair.

  The blackness seemed to swirl about her. She stood, shaking herself. 'No,' she said, and her voice echoed in the vast, lightless chamber. 'I will not give up. For my people, for all the saur, I must succeed.'

  She picked up another volume, sat once more, and began to read.

  Five

  The room was compact, opening off one of the great halls in the Lost Castle. A round table of dark, fine-grained wood stood in the middle of it. Diamond-paned windows gave a view of the river and forest below, with the encircling mountains in the distance. A simple fireplace, unlit in the mildness of early autumn, took up one wall. Simangee had dubbed the place the Room of Dreams for it was here that the three friends did most of their planning.

  The table was strewn with maps that Simangee had found in one of the three libraries in the castle. Adalon had added many sheets of paper, with figures and diagrams scratched on them. Quills and ink pots nestled in the jumble.

  Adalon stood in the corner of the room and eyed the stranger at the table. 'You say she can be trusted?' he muttered to Targesh.

  Targesh shrugged. 'Trust the herd. Be wary o
f others.'

  The stranger frowned. 'If you don't trust me, then let me go.'

  She was a well-rounded Billed One. Her scales shone and her flat beak was burnished. Her red tunic was edged with purple piping and her leggings were green. All her garments were of rich make and in good repair. Adalon thought she looked like a courtier out for a stroll in a palace garden. This notion made his memory jangle, but he still couldn't put a claw on when he'd seen her before. 'What is she doing here?' he asked Targesh.

  Targesh looked pained. He glanced at Simangee, but she ignored him and gazed at the ceiling, humming. 'I took a patrol outside the valley.'

  'I thought we'd agreed to stay hidden. We are still vulnerable.'

  'In some ways, that's true, Adalon who was once of the Eastern Peaks,' the stranger said. She clicked her claws together. 'But since Wargrach told everyone you were killed in one of Graaldon's eruptions, no-one is actually looking for you.'

  'Who are you?' Adalon snapped.

  She stood and bowed. 'Varriah, at your service.'

  Simangee hummed a little. 'Don't you remember her? She was a house steward in Queen Tayesha's palace.'

  'Ah,' Adalon said. 'Now I remember.'

  Adalon was taken back two years, to a much happier time. Simangee, Targesh and he had gone to Challish for the spring festival. They'd been pleased to leave the wild weather of the Eastern Peaks, where winter lingered for months after the lower-lying provinces of Thraag had seen thaw and budburst. Adalon's father had been unable to go because he was planning irrigation works on the estate, so he'd entrusted the young people to Adalon's Great-Uncle Baradon. The old saur loved nothing better than a trip to the capital and kept the party entertained on the journey with his tales of the best eateries in the city.

  As heir to the Eastern Peaks, one of the provinces of Thraag, custom demanded that Adalon present himself at the palace, along with his friends and great-uncle. It was Varriah who was given the job of guiding them through the maze of protocol and etiquette. She'd performed this task with jaunty good humour.

  'Varriah,' Adalon said warily. What was one of Queen Tayesha's household doing here? She didn't look like a spy, but Adalon was well aware of how fragile their safety was. 'You're a long way from Gralloch Palace.'

  She grimaced. 'I know. And I haven't seen hot water for days.' She frowned at her claws. 'I'd forgotten how smelly those riding beasts are. Can't something be done about that?'

  'She was running away,' Targesh said.

  'Not running away,' Varriah said, looking pained. 'I was looking for a better position.'

  'In the wilderness?' Adalon asked.

  'Well, yes, of course . . .' She looked around. 'This is a splendid place you have here. However did you find it?'

  Targesh harrumphed. 'I was talking to Bolggo,' he said to Adalon. 'He said some of the village younglings had gone exploring. I found them near the fire gate.' He looked uncomfortable. 'I thought it could be useful to do some scouting outside.'

  The fire gate was the only way in or out of the Hidden Valley. The tunnel wound through the flank of Graaldon, the smoking mountain, to the ashy, barren wasteland outside. Regularly, the tunnel filled with molten rock, which poured out onto the volcano's feet, making it a perilous path.

  'We'd spoken of patrols,' Adalon said to Targesh. 'I was going to organise them . . .'

  'You've been busy,' Targesh said. 'The younglings were eager.'

  'Of course.' Adalon paced back and forth, his hands behind his back. He had so much to do, so many plans, so much preparation to undertake. He felt buried in decisions and choices.

  'You can't do everything yourself,' Simangee said to him. 'We are part of this too.'

  Adalon stopped pacing and grinned. 'Reading minds again?'

  'It's a matter of knowing you too well, Adalon.'

  Targesh rumbled in his chest. 'This one has news.

  Best to listen.'

  Rebuked, Adalon sat at the table and faced Varriah. Targesh joined them. 'Tell 'em,' he said to the Billed One.

  Varriah studied her claws again. 'Well, I decided that the climate of Challish didn't suit me at all –'

  'You said the Queen wants to invade Callibeen by the end of the month,' Targesh interrupted.

  Varriah narrowed her eyes, but nodded. 'All Thraag is mobilised for war. The Army has been swelled by volunteers inspired by the Queen. She's been giving speeches, promising glory and a golden future for everyone.' Her face went hard, and for a moment Adalon saw the steel beneath the soft exterior. 'The generals are saying that everyone who's not for them is against them.'

  'Varriah is from Callibeen,' Targesh added.

  Adalon jerked his gaze to the Plated One. His suspicions evaporated.

  'No-one in the palace knows, of course.' She paused. 'My family still lives in Silp, the capital.'

  'Ah. You were going to warn them,' Simangee said.

  'Of course. The Way of the Bill: Family is who we are.'

  Adalon nodded. He understood the importance of family.

  'What can we do to help?' Targesh said.

  Adalon saw the keen interest in Varriah's eyes. 'We can't fight an army,' he said. 'I'd hoped we'd be able to build up our strength, recruit like-minded saur and then embark on a campaign of harassment and raiding. We could wear them down, make them afraid.' He tapped his claws on the tabletop.

  Varriah looked troubled. 'There's more news. I fear you will not take it well.'

  Adalon stared. 'How can it be worse than that you have already told us?'

  'High Battilon. Your ancestral home in the Eastern Peaks. It's rumoured that Wargrach has assumed lordship of it.'

  Adalon clenched his fists. He felt the claws bite into his palms until they drew blood. 'What of my uncle? Moralon was the new lord after Wargrach killed my father.'

  Varriah shrugged. 'Imprisoned? Killed? Who knows? Cutthroats and rogues from all over the seven kingdoms are flocking to High Battilon, willing to serve Wargrach.'

  For an instant, Adalon felt as if the whole world were whirling, spinning so fast that everything could fall apart. His tail twitched. He wanted to leap to his feet, to run, to slash . . . Then he drew breath, remembering the Way of the Claw. Pause. Think. Pause again.

  'We have too many enemies for our paltry strength,' he said.

  'We need help,' Targesh said. 'Allies.'

  'Who would help us against Thraag?' Simangee said. 'All the other kingdoms are content, or cautious, or afraid. By the time they realise what Tayesha has planned it will be too late.'

  Adalon stretched his neck and stifled a yawn. He was tired. 'We must do something.'

  'No allies in the seven kingdoms,' Targesh said. 'Where else, then?'

  Simangee spluttered. 'Krangor is the seven kingdoms!'

  Then she stopped, a claw in the air.

  Adalon knew the expression on his friend's face. 'What is it?'

  'Allies. Outside the seven kingdoms. Something I read.' A few soft notes burbled from her crest as she thought. 'Saur who want to be restored to Krangor. A legend.'

  'A legend,' Targesh repeated. He swept an arm in a wide, encompassing gesture. 'We're living in a legend. Nothing wrong with legends.'

  Adalon had to agree. Whether they liked it or not, they were caught in a tale of great events. But how was this story going to end?

  Six

  Simangee hopped from foot to foot with impatience. 'Come on, Adalon, I have to show you. You won't believe it otherwise.'

  Adalon wasn't to be hurried. 'Targesh, can you take Varriah to Bolggo? He should be able to find her some quarters.' After the battle at Sleeto, Adalon knew that the villagers there wouldn't be safe from the Queen's revenge. Bolggo had been the innkeeper, the most important saur in the village, and so he had become the leader of the refugees as they made their way across Thraag. Now they were safe in the Hidden Valley, Bolggo still helped to organise their everyday matters.

  'Somewhere east-facing, I should think,' she said. 'I prefer morning sun. An
d not on the ground, I do like a view. And . . .'

  They left Targesh scratching his head at Varriah's requests.

  Simangee hummed as she went and Adalon was pleased to see his friend happy. In their struggle, light moments had been few.

  They walked along corridors, up sweeping staircases, through vast and echoing spaces, beneath ceilings carved with strange and disturbing shapes. Finally, Simangee stopped at a pair of double doors, brass-coated and solid. 'I found it last week,' she said.

  'Before you'd grown bored with exploring?'

  She smiled. 'I had better things to do. But now . . .' She pushed open the doors and stood back, ushering Adalon into a vast hall. Narrow windows filled the space with light. The wood-panelled walls on either side were hung with immense paintings in ornate, gilded frames. Adalon stepped inside and his eyes widened.

  The hall was full of statues.

  Dozens of figures stood in rows, a motionless crowd, rank on rank of saur of all sorts. Adalon hesitated, then he approached the nearest statue.

  He was a towering Toothed One, made of black stone that had a dull sheen, as if it had been oiled. Frozen in mid-snarl, one hand extended, claws grasping at empty air, he was twisting, caught in the action of facing an unexpected enemy. Adalon could see the muscles straining in his forearm and the tension in his neck. 'Who is he?' he asked, aware that Simangee had come near.

  'I don't know. There's no inscription. But I'm not sure if he's anyone in particular. Look.'

  Standing next to the first statue was another Toothed One, again caught with supreme skill. This saur had claws raised and the muscles in her great legs were bunched. She was clearly about to attack.

  Adalon compared this statue with the first. She was a different type of Toothed One, with less massive jaws and much longer arms. She was smaller, too, more compact.

  Another Toothed One was on the left. This one had an odd stumpy tail and short legs.