Emily Rodda - Deltora Quest #8 - Return to Deltora

“Get up to the top, Bak 6!” barked another Guard. “There’ll be trouble if we aren’t ready when they bring the others.” He strode over to the shadows and came back hauling what looked like a bundle of rags.

“They got them, then, Bak 1?” called the first Guard, climbing to the top of the pyramid. He had a length of rope and an oil jar in his hand.

“Easy. Knew exactly where they’d be, and when, didn’t they?” Bak 1 was heaving the bundle up the steps towards the pole. “They got the old woman first, so she couldn’t try any of her hocus-pocus. After that it wasn’t too bad. The big, ugly one took a bit of time. And the gnome gave some trouble, they say. Killed three Quills and a Pern on her own. But they fixed her in the end.”

Lief’s heart seemed to stop. He heard the sharply drawn breaths of his companions behind him, but did not turn. Rigid with horror he watched as Bak 1 pulled the bundle upright against the pole and Bak 6 began tying it into place.

It was Dain. Dain, silky hair flopping forward, the side of his pale face flickering in and out of view in the light of the torches. As Lief watched, he slowly raised his head. His eyes opened and widened in terror.

There was a heavy, panting sound behind Lief, and a rough movement. “No!” Steven’s voice rasped. “Nevets! Not while the Guards are close to Dain. They have daggers, blisters … They will kill him at once, if you strike now. Wait, I beg you!”

There was a moment of struggle. Then the panting eased. The movement stopped.

“Awake at last, your majesty?” Bak 1 was sneering. “That’s good.” He beckoned, and his fellows began toiling up towards him, their arms full of dead branches. As they dumped the wood around Dain’s feet, piling it high, Bak 6 sprinkled it with oil.

“This’ll keep him nice and warm,” he sniggered. Then he looked up, squinting into the torchlight. “The others are coming with the prisoners,” he said. “Party can start anytime. Someone had better get Fallow. Bak 3 — you go.”

“He won’t come,” whined Bak 3. “Ever since he heard that story about the three being sighted in the west, he’s stopped worrying. He’s locked in that room with his green light. You can see it under the door. And you know he —”

“He’ll come for this,” growled Bak 1. “There’ll be trouble if he misses it. Go on!”

As Bak 3 grumbled away, there were shuffling, clinking sounds from the side of the square nearest the city gates. The next moment, a group of stumbling figures came into view. Some were being dragged by Guards, other were walking alone, their legs weighed down with heavy chains.

Lief searched the faces. There was Gla-Thon, her hair sleek, wet with blood, her left arm hanging uselessly by her side. Manus, shivering with fear, came next. Behind him, Fardeep and Nanion supported Zeean, who hung limply between them. And, dragged on his belly behind the last of the Guards, his body thumping over the cobbles, wrists bleeding freely as the straining chains bit deeply into his flesh was … Glock.

Only one person was missing.

“So now we know,” muttered Barda.

Steven’s great body had begun to tremble all over. Lief glanced at him fearfully.

The huge man’s eyes were fixed on Dain. They were changing from yellow to brown, brown to yellow. His mouth was twitching, his flesh quivering, as he fought Nevets for control. “When I give the word, Lief must run to the boy,” he growled thickly. “You others — guard Lief as best you can. We will do the rest. But keep away from us. Keep away!”

Lief tore his eyes from the terrible, writhing face, looked around again. Only Bak 1 and Bak 6 stood beside Dain, now. But both still had their daggers drawn.

Lief’s fingers felt numb as he reached for Dain’s dagger. If he managed to reach Dain alive, he would use the dagger to cut the ropes. That would be fitting. That would be …

But the dagger had gone. Lief looked down, blinking stupidly. The dagger must have fallen from his belt, unnoticed. Probably when he was climbing into the caravan on the road to Del.

A lump rose in his throat. Somehow this small loss seemed a symbol of his great failure. He had thought of himself as his king’s protector. What folly!

He glanced at Jasmine, rigid beside him. Her eyes were narrow and intent. Her lips were firm. Behind her, Barda towered. He had drawn his sword. His face still showed signs of his illness, but his brow was furrowed with determination.

Lief shook himself. This was no time for weakness. He turned back to face the pyramid and drew his own sword. The sword his father had made for him. That, too, could cut ropes. Could free his king. That, too, was fitting.

Bak 1 grinned cruelly as the chained group came to a stop in front of the platform. “You’ve got a rare treat in store,” he snarled. “You’re to witness a great event, before you die.”

He looked down, annoyed, as Bak 3 hurried into his view. “Where’s Fallow?” he snarled.

Bak 3 shook his head. “He wouldn’t answer the door!” he panted. “I told you!”

“Then we’ll begin without him!” Bak 1 snapped. “And he’ll face the consequences when the master comes!” He jerked his head at Bak 6, who sprang down to the ground, snatched up a torch, and held it up to him.

The prisoners struggled vainly in their chains, their faces masks of horror. Dain leaned back against the pole and closed his eyes.

Lief held himself ready. Ready …

“Now, traitors,” snarled Bak 1, raising the torch. “Watch your puny king scream for mercy as he burns.” He touched the torch to the wood, then jumped to safety as flames began to leap.

“NOW!” The roar echoed around the square. Not just one voice, but two. And both of them like thunder.

Lief ran like the wind, dodging every hand that clutched at him, every blister that flew at him. He did not look behind him. He barely heard the screams, the snarling fury, the shouted orders that ended in shrieks of terror. Jasmine and Barda were on either side of him, but they could not keep pace. In seconds he had reached the platform. Alone he leaped up to the top, sliced through the ropes that bound Dain, pulled the limp body from the flames.

Eyes streaming in the smoke, he swung the boy further down the platform and let him go. Dain staggered, then stood, swaying, on his own feet. Lief grappled with the clasp of the Belt of Deltora. At last it slid apart. He pulled the Belt from his waist …

There was a mighty crash, a bellowing roar. Lief spun around. Jasmine and Barda stood teetering on the edge of a gaping hole that had opened in the square. Flaming torches were scattered around them. Nevets, Steven, and a host of Guards had disappeared. The Guards’ screams echoed hideously up into the night for a single moment, then were choked off. The ground shook as Nevets raged against the walls of his prison.

Rats poured from the little yard where the caravan stood. As they ran they shimmered and paled, rising into wavering white flames with coals for eyes and gaping, toothless mouths. And in the core of every one was the Shadow Lord’s mark.

Lief whirled back to Dain, the Belt dangling from his hand, his mind blank with horror and confusion. A trap had been set for Nevets. They had been betrayed! Their plans had been known. But how? No one knew of Barda and Steven’s scheme. No one …

And then he saw the dagger on Dain’s belt. Unsheathed, the dagger gleamed in the fire’s fierce light. Its tip shone bright silver. Lief looked away from it. Up into Dain’s dark, dark eyes. And in those eyes, unveiled at last, he saw the answer to all his questions.