Emily Rodda: Deltora Quest #1: The Forests of Silence

“The tunnel through the hill is known only to the royal family, and is only to be used in times of great danger,” he heard Endon say softly. “King Brandon caused it to be made when the palace was built. My father taught me of it when I was very young, as he had been taught in his time — in words that even a small child would remember. There is a rhyme for entering the palace, and a rhyme for leaving it. It is a dark secret. Even the chief advisors have never known of it.”

Jarred did not reply. He had raised his eyes to the platform and seen what was lying there. It was the body of an old woman. Her work-worn hands were folded on her chest. Her wrinkled face was peaceful in the flickering light of the candles that surrounded her.

“Min!” he whispered. His eyes burned with sudden tears as he looked at the old nurse who had cared for him through his childhood. He had not seen her for many years, but he had thought of her often. It was hard to believe that she was dead.

“She had a grown-up son, you know,” Endon murmured. “He lived in the palace, but I never met him. I asked for him, when I heard she had died. They told me he had run away — escaped through the gates during the feast. He was afraid, Jarred. Min must have told him what she heard. He knew she had been killed …”

“Killed?” gasped Jarred. “But —”

Endon’s face was twisted with sorrow. “She came to me in my chamber. I was about to leave for the feast celebrating my seven years as king,” he muttered. “She was troubled. She had been working in her sewing room, and had overheard whisperings outside that frightened her. She told me that there were enemies within the palace, and that some great evil was to strike this night.”

He bowed his head. “I would not listen to her. I thought she had fallen asleep over her work, and dreamed. I smiled at her fears and sent her away. And within the hour, she was dead. She had fallen from the top of the stairs to the hall below. They said it was an accident. But …”

“But you do not think so,” Jarred finished for him, looking sadly at Min’s still, pale face. “You think she was killed because of what she knew.”

“Yes,” said Endon in a low voice. “And my wife thinks it, too.”

Jarred glanced at him. “You are married, then,” he said. “I, too.”

Endon half smiled. “That is good,” he murmured politely. “I hope that you are as happy in your marriage as I am in mine. My wife, the queen, is called Sharn. We had never spoken to each other before our wedding day, as is the Rule, but she grows more dear to me with every year that passes. Our first child will be born at summer’s end.”

“And ours in the early autumn,” said Jarred.

There was a moment’s silence as each of them thought of the changes that seven years had brought. Then Endon looked straight into Jarred’s eyes. “It is good to see you again, my friend,” he said softly. “I have been cruelly punished for believing that you could betray me. I have missed you sorely.”

And suddenly all the strangeness between them melted away. Jarred thrust out his hand and clasped Endon’s warmly. “Friends to the death we were as boys, and friends to the death we will always be,” he said. “You must have always known this in your heart, Endon, because you sent for me when trouble came. I wish only that the summons had been sooner. I fear we have little time.”

“Then Min was right,” Endon whispered. “There is evil here.”

“There has been evil here for a long time,” said Jarred. “And now —”

Both of them swung around, their hands on their swords, as they heard the door behind them click open.

“Endon, it is past dawn,” a voice called softly.

“Sharn!” exclaimed Endon. He ran to meet the pretty young woman who was slipping into the chapel. She was as richly robed as he, and her glossy hair was twisted high on her head. There were deep shadows under her eyes as if she had kept watch all night.

She gasped and shrank back as she saw Jarred.

“Do not be afraid, Sharn,” Endon said gently. “It is only Jarred.”

“Jarred! You came!” she exclaimed, her tired face breaking into a relieved smile.

“I did,” nodded Jarred. “And I will do what I can to help you fight the trouble that has come to our land. But we must act quickly. We must go at once to the tower, so that Endon can reclaim the Belt of Deltora.”

Endon stared at him, white-faced. “Jarred, I — I cannot,” he stammered. “The Rule —”

“Forget the Rule, Endon!” Jarred hissed, striding towards the door. “I told you this once and you would not listen to me. Do not make the mistake a second time. The Belt is Deltora’s only protection. The people depend upon you to guard it. And I think that it is in danger. Grave danger.”

As Endon stood motionless, still hesitating, Sharn put her arm through his. “You are the king, Endon,” she said quietly. “Your duty to Deltora is far greater than your duty to obey the Rule. Let us go together to the tower.”

And, at last, Endon nodded. “Very well,” he said. “We will go. Together.”

They ran up the great stairs — past the first floor, the second, the third, and on towards the tower room. They took care to move quietly, but they saw no one. It was still very early, and though the cooks had begun to move around in the kitchens downstairs, few others in the palace were stirring.

By the time they reached the last flight of stairs, Jarred had begun to think that all was going to be well. He climbed eagerly, with Endon and Sharn close behind him. He reached the top — then stopped abruptly.

The tower room door was gaping open, its three gold locks broken. On the floor outside, the three guards lay dead where they had fallen, their swords still clutched in their hands.

Jarred heard a sobbing gasp behind him. Then Endon ran past him into the tower room. There was a single, anguished cry. Then silence.

Jarred’s heart seemed to turn over in his chest. Slowly he and Sharn followed the king.

The small, round room was very still and a foul smell hung in the air. The sky outside the open windows was filled with angry red light as the newly risen sun glared through a smothering blanket of cloud. The glass case that sheltered the Belt of Deltora had been shattered into a thousand pieces.

Endon was on his knees among the glittering fragments. The Belt — or what remained of it — lay on the floor in front of him. He picked it up. It hung limply between his hands — a tangled, useless chain of grey steel. Its medallions were torn and twisted. The seven gems were gone.

With a cry, Sharn hurried to her husband’s side, gently helping him to rise. He stood, swaying, the empty, ruined Belt clutched in his hands.

Dull despair settled over Jarred. What he had feared had come to pass. The enemy had triumphed.

There was a low, mocking laugh behind him. Prandine was standing in the doorway. In his long black robe he looked as tall and bony as ever, but it was as if a mask had fallen from his face. The grave, serious expression had gone. Now, greed and triumph lit his eyes and cruelty twisted his thin mouth.

“So, Jarred, you have risen from the dead to try to interfere once more,” he snarled. “But you are too late. Soon, very soon, Deltora will bow beneath my Lord’s shadow.”

Wild anger surged through Jarred. He lunged forward, his sword aimed at Prandine’s heart. In an instant, the sword burned white hot. He dropped it with a cry of agony, his hand seared and blistered.