Emily Rodda - Deltora Quest #8 - Return to Deltora

“I daresay he has,” said Doom dryly, strolling up behind them. “Good explanations are Tom’s specialty. So — he finally decided to take sides, did he?”

Manus smiled. “Not quite that, I think,” he said. “He warned Nanion that lightning does not strike twice in the same place. Meaning, I suppose, that we should expect no more favors from him.”

“But I think he had forgotten that he had already done us one good turn,” Nanion put in. “Shortly before I saw him, he had given two of my people some news. Grey Guards are being ordered to the west. Fighting is expected.”

Doom’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed?” he muttered. He drew Nanion aside, leaving Manus alone with Barda, Lief, and Jasmine.

“This is a sorrowful thing,” Manus murmured, looking down at the big man lying so still on the bed. “Can nothing be done?”

Lief shook his head. “He has not stirred since sunrise,” he said, all his grief flooding back. “I think — it cannot be long.”

Manus bowed his head. “Then I am glad I arrived when I did,” he said softly. “For it means much to me to see him again. He has a great heart.”

He looked up, meeting Lief’s eyes squarely. “He has not given his life in vain,” he said. “Jasmine has told me why I was summoned, though I think I had already guessed. You three have worked a miracle.”

“Part of a miracle,” Lief answered. “The heir is still to be found.”

“And is that not why we are all here?” Manus asked quietly. He stood up. “The moon is rising. It is time for the seven tribes to join once more. It is time for the heir to be summoned.”

Candles flickered around the walls. Faces — grave, excited, afraid — formed a half circle around the seven. All eyes were on the Belt, lying in shadow, on the table where Lief had set it.

They were standing by Barda’s bed. Jasmine had insisted on that. “In whatever twilight world he is wandering, he may hear us,” she said. “And even if he cannot, it is his right to be present.”

No one argued with her. But it was clear to all that Barda’s long struggle for life was almost done.

Zeean stepped forward. “I, Zeean of Tora, am here,” she said gravely, laying her hand upon the amethyst.

Gla-Thon was next. “And I, Gla-Thon of the Dread Gnomes,” she said, her head held high as she caressed the emerald.

Lief watched, holding himself rigidly, as one by one the others moved forward.

“Fardeep, of the Mere.” Fardeep’s usually hearty voice was shaking. Humbly, he touched the lapis lazuli.

“Steven, of the Plains.” Steven towered over all the rest, his golden hair gleaming as he bent to the opal.

“Manus, for the Ralad people.” Manus brushed the ruby with gentle fingers.

Glock lumbered forward. His face was fierce and proud as he stretched out his huge paw to the diamond. “I am Glock, last of the Jalis,” he growled. And Lief caught his breath as he saw tears spring into the savage eyes.

Then it was his turn. He squeezed Barda’s hand and moved to the Belt. The faces of the watchers in the front row swam before his eyes.

Jasmine, solemn, Filli and Kree on her shoulder. Ailsa, paws clasped to her mouth. Nanion, chief of D’Or, eager. Doom, watchful. Dain, pale and intent.

Lief placed his hand upon the golden topaz. For you, Barda, he thought. For Mother and Father, and all at home. “Lief, of Del,” he said clearly.

He looked down. The Belt was almost hidden by the hands that touched it. Seven hands of every color, every shape, pressed together in one purpose.

Zeean was speaking again, saying the words that had been agreed.

“Together we, representatives of the seven tribes, renew our ancient vow to unite under the power of the Belt of Deltora, and swear loyalty to Adin’s rightful heir.”

“We swear,” the seven said as one.

And Lief felt the Belt warm under his hand. A thrill ran through him. The topaz was gleaming golden through his fingers. His mind sharpened. The Belt grew hotter, hotter until he was forced, like his companions, to draw his hand away. But by that time, he knew.

The heir was here, in this room.

He looked up. His gaze swept over the people in front of him. Fixed on one. One whose body was trembling, but whose face was shimmering with light as he stepped forward.

Dain.

How could I not have seen? Lief thought, staring in wonder as gasps of shock sighed through the crowd. How could I not have guessed?

Dain, whose very name was a clue, an anagram, made up as it was from the letters that also formed the name “Adin.” Dain, who had grown up on an isolated farm, not far from where they now stood. Who had learned the ancient royal art of archery, and as much as his parents could teach him of Deltora’s history. Dain — who was quiet, obedient, and dutiful like his father, dark and delicate like his Toran mother. The name he had given his mother — Rhans — was only Sharn in another form. Yet no one had seen it.

How well he had kept his great secret! Only once had he come close to revealing it. When he had lain by the cracked stone in Tora’s heart, stunned and broken by shock and despair.

The tension in the room seemed to crackle as Lief picked up the Belt and moved slowly forward.

Dain waited. The trembling had stopped. He was holding his head high, now. A quiet dignity seemed to have settled over his shoulders like a fine cloak. The smooth skin of his face and hands glowed with light.

My father served and protected his father, thought Lief. Now I will serve and protect him.

He stretched out his hands. The Belt hung loosely between his fingers, for the first time catching the light. He felt a strange reluctance to let it go. He glanced at Jasmine. She nodded, her eyes shining.

This is what we have striven for, Lief thought. This is what was meant to be. He stared at the Belt, taking one last look at the stones that gleamed in the steel medallions. So hard-won, so beautiful …

Then he blinked. The ruby was not red, but palest pink. The emerald was dull as a stone. The amethyst had paled to soft mauve. The blood rushed to Lief’s head, and his heart begin to pound.

“Danger! Evil!” he gasped. “Here —”

A bloodcurdling shriek split the air. Something huge burst, slavering, through the door. Then, with a sound like thunder, a blast of wind tore through the room, blowing out the candles, throwing Lief backwards into darkness. He scrambled blindly on the hard floor, clutching the Belt, crying out for Jasmine, for Dain. The wind beat in his face. He could hear crashing and thudding as people fell and furniture flew, splintering against the walls.

“Lief! The Belt!” he heard Dain screaming. “To me! Oh, quickly —”

His cry was drowned out by the wind, by screaming, by something roaring with savage fury.

Lief staggered to his feet and began battling through the howling darkness in the direction from which the voice had come. Something flew through the air and hit him in the chest with tremendous force, hurling him back against Barda’s bed. He slumped over it, gasping for breath, struggling to rise.

Then there was a tremendous, rumbling crash from the doorway and the wind stopped, as suddenly as it had begun.

A ghastly silence fell, broken only by the moans and sobs of injured people. His head spinning, Lief pushed himself away from the bed. As he did so, Barda stirred.

“Cold …” Barda whispered. Lief realized that his fall had dragged the blankets from the bed. Feverishly feeling around in the dark, he found them and did his best to spread them over Barda once more. Then, wincing at the pain in his chest, he managed to stand. “Dain!” he heard Doom shouting. “Dain! Answer me!”