Emily Rodda - The Lake of Tears

She stopped, lifted her wrist into the air, and shook it slightly. “Go!” she ordered. “Go home!”

Flapping his wings to steady himself, Kree squawked protestingly.

“Go!” shouted Jasmine. She jerked her hand roughly and Kree was shaken off her wrist. He soared screeching into the air, circled above them once, then flew away.

Jasmine bit her lip and strode on without looking back, Filli chittering miserably on her shoulder.

Lief searched for something comforting to say, but could not find it.

They reached a grove of trees and began following a narrow path that led through the green shade.

“Thaegan hates anything that is beautiful, alive, and free,” Jasmine said at last, as they entered a clearing where green ferns clustered and the branches of the trees arched overhead. “The birds say that in the land around the Lake of Tears there was once a town called D’Or — a town like a garden, with golden towers, happy people, and lush flowers and trees. Now it is a dead, sad place.”

She waved her hand around her. “As will be all this, when Thaegan and her children have finished their evil work.”

Again, there was silence between them, and in the silence they became aware of the rustling of the trees around the clearing.

Jasmine stiffened. “Enemies!” she hissed. “Enemies approach!”

Lief could hear nothing, but by now he knew better than to ignore one of Jasmine’s warnings. The trees here were strange to her, but still she understood their whispering.

He sprinted ahead and caught Barda’s arm. Barda stopped and looked around in surprise.

Jasmine’s face was pale. “Grey Guards,” she whispered. “A whole troop of them. Coming this way.”

Lief and Barda followed Jasmine up into the trees. After their experience in the Forests of Silence it seemed natural to hide above the ground. They climbed as high as they could, while the sound of tramping feet at last came to their ears. They found a safe, comfortable place to cling as the sound grew louder. Wrapped in Lief’s disguising cloak, and further hidden by a thick canopy of leaves, they watched as grey-clad figures began marching into the clearing.

They held themselves very still, flattened against the branches. They thought it would be for only a little time, while the Guards passed. So their hearts sank as they saw the men below them halt, drop their weapons, and throw themselves to the ground.

The troop had chosen the clearing as a resting place it seemed. The three companions exchanged despairing glances. What ill fortune! Now they would have to remain where they were — perhaps for hours.

More and more Guards entered the clearing. Soon it was crowded with grey uniforms and ringing with harsh voices. And then, as the last of the troop came into view, there was the clinking sound of chains to go with the sound of marching boots.

The Guards were escorting a prisoner.

Lief craned his neck to look. The captive looked very different from anyone he had ever seen before. He was very small, with wrinkled blue-grey skin, thin legs and arms, small black eyes like buttons, and a tuft of red hair sticking up from the top of his head. There was a tight leather collar around his neck, with a fastening for a chain or rope dangling from it. He looked exhausted, and the chains that weighed down his wrists and ankles had made raw marks on his skin.

“They have captured a Ralad,” breathed Barda, moving to see more clearly.

“What is a Ralad?” asked Lief. He thought he had heard or read the name before, but could not think where.

“The Ralads are a race of builders. They were beloved of Adin and all the kings and queens of Deltora’s early times,” Barda whispered back. “Their buildings were famous for their strength and cleverness.”

Now Lief remembered where he had seen the name — in The Belt of Deltora , the little blue book his parents had made him study. He gazed in fascination at the drooping figure below them. “It was the Ralads who built the palace of Del,” he murmured. “But he is so small!”

“An ant is tiny,” muttered Barda. “Yet an ant can carry twenty times its own weight. It is not size that is important, but heart.”

“Be silent!” hissed Jasmine. “The Guards will hear you! As it is, they may catch our scent at any time.”

But the Guards had plainly walked a long way, and were tired. They were interested in nothing but the food and drink now being unpacked from baskets the leaders had placed in the middle of the clearing.

Two of them pushed the prisoner roughly to the ground at the side of the clearing and threw him a bottle of water. Then they turned their attention to their meal.

Jasmine stared with disgust as the guards tore at their food and splashed drink into their mouths so that it ran down their chins and spilt on the ground.

But Lief was watching the Ralad man, whose eyes were fixed on the scraps of food that were being scattered on the grass of the clearing. Clearly, he was starving.

“The scrag is hungry!” sniggered one of the Guards, pointing a half-gnawed bone in the Ralad man’s direction. “Here, scrag!”

He crawled across to where the prisoner was sitting and held out the bone. The starving man cringed, then, unable to resist the food, leaned forward. The Guard hit him hard on the nose with the bone and snatched it away. The other Guards roared with laughter.

“Beasts!” hissed Jasmine, completely forgetting, in her anger, her own warning about being heard.

“Be still,” whispered Barda grimly. “There are too many of them. There is nothing we can do. Yet.”

The Guards ate and drank till they could eat and drink no more. Then, sprawled carelessly together like a mass of grey grubs, they lay back, closed their eyes, and began to snore.

As quietly as they could, the three companions climbed from branch to branch until they were directly above the Ralad prisoner. He was sitting perfectly still, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.

Was he, too, asleep? They knew they could not risk startling him awake. If he cried out, all was lost.

Jasmine dug into her pocket and brought out a stem of dried berries. Carefully she leaned out from the tree and threw the stem so that it fell just in front of the motionless captive.

They heard him take a sharp breath. He looked up to the clear sky above where the stem lay, but, of course, saw nothing. His long grey fingers stretched out cautiously and grabbed the prize. He glanced around to make sure that this was not another Guards’ cruel joke, then crushed the stem to his mouth and began tearing at the berries ravenously.

His chains clinked faintly, but the snoring figures around him did not stir.

“Very well,” Jasmine breathed. Taking careful aim, she dropped another stem of berries squarely into the prisoner’s lap. This time he looked straight up, and his button eyes widened with shock as he saw the three faces looking down at him.

Lief, Barda, and Jasmine quickly pressed their fingers to their lips, warning him to be silent. He did not make a sound and crammed berries into his mouth as he watched the strangers edging carefully down the tree towards him.

They already knew that they had no chance of freeing him from his chains without waking the Guards. They had another plan. It was dangerous, but it would have to do. Jasmine and Lief had refused to leave the prisoner to the mercy of his captors, and Barda had not needed much persuading. He was the only one of them who knew of the Ralad people, and the thought of one being held prisoner by the Grey Guards was horrible to him.

While Jasmine kept watch from the tree, Lief and Barda slipped to the ground beside the little man and made signs to him not to fear. Trembling, the prisoner nodded. Then he did something surprising. With the tip of one thin finger he made a strange mark upon the ground and looked up at them inquiringly.