Chronicles of the Red King #3: Leopards' Gold (7 page)

Beyond the arch, five passages led into the farther reaches of the building. Petrello entered the center passage. It took him to his favorite place: a room identical to the golden chamber in his father’s African palace, a room of golden furniture and walls painted with scenes of that hot, faraway kingdom. Camels adorned in gold and silk paced beside small sunlit houses, monkeys swung from vine-covered trees, exotic birds swooped through a vivid blue sky, and scaly creatures peeped between multicolored flowers.

Today, Petrello and the dragon didn’t linger in the chamber of pictures. They passed the shining tables and the couches covered in cloths of gold. And then Petrello was opening the door into the cameldrome.

Gabar, the camel, was dozing beneath a large fruit tree. The king sat beside him, one hand resting on the camel’s neck. All around them, banks of sand rose and fell in smooth golden waves, while high above, a slight ripple in the sky was the only hint that an enchanted net covered the cameldrome, keeping its precious inhabitant warm and dry.

“Petrello!” The king leaned forward, smiling. “And Enid.”

Petrello plodded across the manmade desert. Each step he took seemed to sink farther into the dense, soft sand. Enid spread her wings and flew to the camel that she adored, settling beneath his long neck with a contented grunt. The camel lowered his head and burbled fondly at her.

All Petrello had wanted was his father’s company, to talk with him about the Seeing Crystal, but he couldn’t rid his mind of the scene he had just left: the awful image of his younger brother slowly turning into a wild boar.

The king was pleased to see him. “Come and sit with us,” he said, lifting a handful of sand. He let it spill through his fingers. “You look worried, Petrello. You take our problems too much to heart. There’s always a solution, and we’ll find it eventually.”

Petrello plunged through the last drift of sand. “It isn’t just the crystal and the bellman. I saw something, Father, and I’m ashamed that I want to wipe it out of my head.”

The king frowned. “What did you see?”

Petrello hesitated, and then said in a rush, “Vyborn. He turned into a wild boar. It was horrible; the bristles, the snout, the hooves, the tusks.” He covered his face with his hands.

He heard his father sigh. He heard him say, “That’s not so bad. But better if he’d chosen to be a bird or a butterfly. He has obviously become a shape-shifter. Perhaps it had to happen to one of you.”

“But he chose a wild boar!” Petrello’s hands dropped to his sides. “And he attacked me.”

“I see,” said the king gravely. “Vyborn is very young. It could be that his decision to be a boar was influenced by youthful confusion, or a sense of fun.”

Petrello didn’t like to point out that there had never been the slightest sign that Vyborn had a sense of fun. “Perhaps,” he said. “But Lilith and Olga never use their talents in a helpful way, and Borlath’s fiery fingers always hurt.”

For a moment, the king looked sad, and then he said, “But Amadis … ?”

Petrello smiled. “Oh, yes. There’s Amadis.” He wished he hadn’t mentioned Borlath and his sisters. To lift his father’s spirits, he would have told him about Guanhamara and the rat, but he couldn’t find a way to do that without confessing to their spying. So instead he asked, “Will it happen to all of us, Father? I mean, having the ability to do what seems impossible?”

The king spread his hands. “I have no idea.”

“So you don’t know if I will be … empowered? Or Tolomeo? At the moment, neither of us knows if we’ll ever be able to do anything special, or useful.”

“I can tell you one thing, Petrello,” said the king. “If you and Tolomeo eventually develop any unusual talents, you will use them wisely. I know this and it comforts me.”

T
wo days passed. One of the Knight Protectors had still not returned: Sir Peredur. Peredur was known for his solitary quests. He often took up the cause of some poor family who were being bullied by their masters. Nevertheless, Sir Edern was anxious.

The king couldn’t decide what to do. His chancellor advised letting the matter of the crystal rest. “The wizards can make a new Seeing Crystal,” said Lord Thorkil.

“Easier said than done,” muttered Eri, when the king relayed the chancellor’s suggestion. “Perhaps there is only one Seeing Crystal in the whole world.”

Eri had found the crystal on one of his long walks into the mountains. Llyr had been with him. He was only four years old but he could walk as far as any man. As they picked their way across a shallow stream, Llyr had noticed a patch of quartz sparkling beneath the water. Eri gathered some of the shining stones and brought them back to the castle. It was only when he was cleaning the quartz in one of his potions that a soft tinkling sound could be heard. Llyr pointed to one of the crystals. As Eri lifted it out of the liquid, light spilled through it, onto the wall, and an image appeared: soldiers, riding through a forest.

“It sees,” Llyr said. “Soldiers are coming.”

It was true.

From that day on, the crystal had been used to warn them of any approaching stranger. It had never failed.

The Knight Protectors were all for riding to Castle Melyntha.

“But what if the crystal isn’t there?” said King Timoken. “We can’t attack without a reason. I don’t doubt that the eagles saw Rigg and his abductors on the castle road, but we need more proof. The crystal might still be here, hidden by whoever took it.”

John, the guard, might have told them more, but he had inconveniently escaped. The soldier who had been guarding him was overcome in the middle of the night, knocked senseless by a blow to his head. His keys had been taken and John set free.

The stricken soldier wasn’t discovered until morning. It was feared that he might never regain his senses.

Never before had the king and his court had so many problems to deal with. In the meantime, with everyone in the castle so distracted, Vyborn discovered how to have fun. Encouraged by Olga and Lilith, he practiced his new shape-shifting talent almost the whole day long.

The boys in Vyborn’s bedchamber were kept awake all night by boar grunting, owl hooting, bat screeching, and donkey braying. Wings scratched their faces, tusks pulled off their covers, and the donkey seemed to fill every space in the room with its great head and rough-haired body.

“Perhaps it’s not a donkey,” Petrello muttered, burying his head under his pillow.

It was a dark night and Vyborn’s shape-shifting couldn’t be seen. There were only the familiar animal sounds to suggest what was going on.

“I’ll bet you can’t become a quiet creature like a cat,” said Tolly, hoping Vyborn would take up the challenge.

“Cats aren’t always quiet,” said Gunfrid, who was sharing Tolly’s bed.

There followed several moments of grunting and sniffing. Fingernails scraped the floor, a heavy object rolled and scratched and struggled. Something banged against Petrello’s bedpost. What was going on?

All at once, the moon swam out from the gray cloud that had buried it, and Vyborn’s human shape could be seen. The light on his face was eerie and cold, and the voice that came from him was an awful, yearning, resentful sound.

“I can’t,” said Vyborn, through gritted teeth. His dark, fathomless eyes glared up at Tolly. “Why did you say a cat?”

“Just a thought,” said Tolly.

“No,” barked Vyborn. “You guessed I couldn’t. I tried to be a leopard, but I couldn’t. Why?” He looked up at Petrello, who had removed the pillow from his head.

“How should I know?” said Petrello.

“Why? Why? Why can’t I be a leopard?”

“Leopards are very, very special.” Guanhamara stood in the doorway, a lantern swinging from her hand. “Leopards are creatures that can never be used by ‘things’ like you, Vyborn, and you’d better get used to the idea.”

“S-s-s-s-k-k-k-gr-gr-gr!” Vyborn’s voice went through a series of unidentifiable animal noises. The sounds ranged from a quiet squeak to a deafening roar. And it was while he was roaring that his face and body began to change into a big, featureless lump, a creature that never was, and never could be.

The dark shape lumbered toward Guanhamara, but she stood her ground. “I’m going to have to teach you a lesson, Vyborn,” she said, her voice very stern.

The lump hesitated. It grunted and sniffed the air. And then it shrieked. Everyone else screamed.

There, standing just inside the door, was a tall, white, writhing monster: a demon with two heads, its eyes red embers, its open mouth awash with fangs, its arms scaly, its fingers bloody.

Petrello knew it had to be one of his sister’s illusions, but he couldn’t stop himself from screaming.

It was the middle of the night. Bloodcurdling screams were bound to cause a stir. But by the time Nurse Ogle appeared on the scene, Guanhamara had tiptoed away, the ghostly demon had dematerialized, and Vyborn’s head was under the covers.

“What’s going on?” Nurse Ogle demanded. “Are you causing trouble again, foolish Petrello?”

“I am not,” said Petrello indignantly.

“He is not,” said Tolly. “Nor is he foolish.”

“Who asked you?” snapped the beanpole woman, advancing into the room. She was supposed to care for the children, but in Petrello’s opinion, she couldn’t care less. “There was a noise coming from this bedchamber, loud enough to wake the dead.” The nurse lifted her lantern, sending its flickering light across the beds. “Who’s that hiding under the covers?” she demanded.

“Vyborn,” said Petrello. “He doesn’t feel well.”

Nurse Ogle marched over to Vyborn’s bed and prodded the body beneath the covers. “Was it you, boy, making all that noise?”

The others waited to see what would happen. Gunfrid pressed his fist against his mouth, to stop himself from screaming again.

Vyborn’s small body began to writhe. A head emerged, not Vyborn’s head of flat, black hair, but a head of bristles, pointed ears, and small black eyes.

You have to hand it to Nurse Ogle
, thought Petrello. For someone who was looking at a wild boar in a bed, she was remarkably calm. Taking only the slightest step back, she said, “So, we have another offshoot of King Timoken’s enchantments.”

Vyborn grunted. For some reason, the awful tusks didn’t appear on his cheeks, and his nose still looked rather human. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to reveal his newly acquired talent to Nurse Ogle, but was finding it difficult to hold back.

“Maybe he doesn’t know he’s only half turned?” Tolly whispered behind his hand.

Petrello suppressed a giggle.

Nurse Ogle sighed. “Well, boy, just keep the noise down and don’t show off. Not in my presence, anyway.”

“It was Guanhamara.” Vyborn’s own hair was taking over from the bristles. His pointed ears shriveled and his eyes looked almost normal.

“What do you mean, it was Guanhamara?” Nurse Ogle peered at Vyborn. “One girl can’t make a noise like that.”

“She made us scream,” Vyborn protested. “She … she brought in a demon. It had two heads that touched the ceiling, and fangs and bloody fingers.”

Nurse Ogle stared at Vyborn. “Is this true?” She turned to the others.

Petrello shrugged. “We didn’t see.”

“Liar!” cried Vyborn. “You screamed.”

“There was certainly more than one scream,” said the nurse. “So, it seems that two more royal children have acquired their endowments, and both on the same day. It must have something to do with that uncomfortable Vanishing.” She made her way back to the door. “Any more noise and I’ll make you all take a potion, one that will give you a horrible stomachache for a week.”

They thought she had finished with her dire warnings. No such luck. “As for you two” — she glared at Petrello and Tolly from the doorway — “Heaven help us if you acquire talents. They are bound to be nasty. So look out, little waif.” She directed her gaze at Gunfrid, who was trying to hide behind Tolly. “You’re in for a rough ride, sharing a chamber with these three.”

The nurse walked away. Her rush slippers slapped the floorboards, and her lantern creaked on its rusty handle as she trundled back to her bedchamber at the end of the passage.

*  *  *

Next morning, Petrello opened his eyes just as Tolly was leaving the room.

“Are you going to your secret meeting?” Petrello called after his brother.

Tolly didn’t answer, and then, popping his head around the door, he said, “Vyborn’s taken Gunfrid to the dining hall. He said he was going to show him around.”

“Tolly!” Petrello leaped out of bed and began to throw on his clothes. “You shouldn’t have let them go off together. Vyborn could do anything.”

“He seemed better, if you know what I mean,” said Tolly. “Perhaps all that shape-shifting last night got it out of his system for a while. I must go. I’m late. Save me some breakfast.”

Pulling on his boots, Petrello left the room. He was just in time to see Tolly turn the corner onto the stairway. By the time Petrello reached the steps, his brother had gone. “Sometimes I think he can fly,” he said to himself.

In the courtyard, Guanhamara and Elin were tidying Zeba’s hair. She was wearing a dress of buttercup yellow, with tight sleeves that were a little too long, and a green velvet hem that she kept tripping over. But she was hardly recognizable as the ragged waif of yesterday.

Petrello noticed his brother Cafal watching the girls. He had a strange, gentle smile on his face, as though he were entranced by the scene. Poor Cafal, he had to try so hard to control his unhappy affliction. Petrello had only once seen the were-beast that his brother could sometimes become. But he had heard him, howling in the forest like a creature in great pain.

So much for the gifts that the realm of enchantments had bestowed on the king’s third son. It didn’t seem fair. But as their father had explained, it was a matter of luck whether his children received a useful talent, or something they’d rather be without.

“How do I look, Prince Petrello?” asked Zeba.

“You look … almost beautiful,” Petrello answered lamely.

“Don’t say ‘almost,’” Guanhamara complained. “Zeba is transformed. She looks gorgeous.”

“Yes, of course,” Petrello agreed, wishing he knew how to pay compliments.

“It’s just for today.” Zeba ran her fingers over the bright skirt. “And then I must wear something less splendid.”

“She’s to work with the seamstresses,” Elin explained. “And the others might be jealous.”

Zeba twirled around in her new dress, smiling broadly. “I’m going to sew,” she sang. “I always wanted to, but in Castle Melyntha they’d only let me sweep and scrub.”

The breakfast bell rang out. Today it was Selgi’s duty. All the children waited impatiently for their turn to ring the bell, but Selgi was the best. He had a way of swinging the bell so that the brass clapper hit the sides in a series of long, rhythmical peals.

As children and courtiers hurried to their breakfasts, they didn’t look as happy as usual. The bell reminded them of the vanished Rigg, and now there was news that the Seeing Crystal had been stolen. People didn’t feel safe anymore.

“Have you seen Vyborn?” Petrello asked the girls.

“He was taking my brother to see the helmets,” said Zeba.

“But they’re kept in a locked room,” said Petrello, frowning.

Zeba shrugged.

“Save me some breakfast,” Petrello told Guanhamara as he sped toward the armory. “And for Tolly as well!”

“Where is Tolly?” she shouted.

“Who knows? But I don’t think Gunfrid should be alone with Vyborn.”

Petrello caught a glimpse of Zeba’s anxious face, and then he lost sight of the girls as people hurried past them to the dining halls.

“Helmets,” muttered Petrello.

The helmets were kept in a small room just off the armory. Petrello found the guard who was supposed to be on duty slumped beside the grilled door. He had a dazed expression on his face, and Petrello noticed that the grille was partly open, with the key still in the lock.

“Have you seen my brother?” asked Petrello, peering closely at the man.

“I saw a goat,” mumbled the guard. “It had the horns of a devil. When I refused to let it in, it winded me. Butted me right here.” He touched his stomach. “There was a boy with it, a scrawny lad. He said, ‘This goat wants you to unlock the door; if you don’t, he’ll butt you again and put his horns right through you.’”

“A goat?” said Petrello.

“What could I do?” groaned the guard. “I mean, what harm can a goat do in an armory? It can’t steal weapons, or put on the armor. And I didn’t want to feel those horns in my stomach again, so I unlocked the grille and the door.”

“And did they go in?”

“Of course they did,” the guard replied sourly.

Before the man could stop him, Petrello slipped through the open grille and took two steps down to a wooden door studded with iron bolts. A great key protruded from the lock, but Petrello had no need to turn it. The door creaked open at a touch.