Crown of Three (29 page)

G
ulph pressed his face against the bars, wishing for the hundredth time that he could find a space wide enough to squeeze through. His shackles hadn't stopped him from making a complete tour of the cell, so he knew for certain no such space existed. But it didn't stop him from hoping.

“What do you see?” said Captain Ossilius.

Despite the wretched state of his clothes, the former officer of the King's Legion stood tall and proud. The morning sun, slicing through the prison bars, painted his filthy uniform with bright stripes. He scratched his unkempt beard and gave Gulph a wan smile.

It was Ossilius who'd saved him when he'd first been thrown in the cell. As Gulph had lain on the floor, with the leering prisoners crowding over him, Ossilius had pushed them aside. Despite his fall from grace, it seemed he could still command a certain respect; once the others realized Gulph was in his favor, they left him alone.

As soon as he'd made space around them, Ossilius astonished Gulph by dropping to his knees.

“Forgive me,” he said.

“Forgive you?” said Gulph. “For what?”

“For being taken in by Nynus and Magritt. I fear my loyalty to the crown blinded me. Now I have paid the price.”

Gulph had always thought Ossilius's face was sad. Now the man looked distraught.

“We were all fooled,” Gulph said.

“And betrayed.”

“That too.” Gulph felt sympathy for this broken man. But what could he say that would help? “That's why we're better than them. Because we believed the world was a good place.”

Ossilius snorted. “And now we know the truth.”

Gulph took his shoulders. “Yes. We know we were right.”

“Do you think so? Let me tell you about this ‘good world.' This ‘good world' saw my only son taken from me and beaten nearly to death. They split the side of his face open. His crime? Defending another man from being stoned by the King's Legion. That's why I became a legionnaire myself: to try to change things from the inside. But nothing changes.”

“I'm sorry. Where's your son now?”

“He escaped,” said Ossilius with fierce pride. “I receive word from him now and again, through secret channels. He has raised an army of outlaws, rebels with one mind: to storm Idilliam and see the prophecy fulfilled. He believes in the tale of the triplets, you see. He has devoted his life to them. He is a strong man, my son. My Fessan.”

Later, with Ossilius snoring beside him, Gulph wrestled with the idea of telling him the truth: that he himself was one of the triplets. The secret was stuck inside him, like a lump of food lodged in his throat. If only he could cough it out, perhaps he could start breathing properly again.

More than once he found himself reaching out to Ossilius, hand poised to shake the man from his slumber, lips ready to spill their secret. Each time he stopped himself. Telling the truth would be like releasing a caged animal. There was no telling what damage it might cause.

Gulph wrestled with his thoughts long into the night. He thought he would never get to sleep.

But in the end, he did.

Now, as they stood together at the mesh of bars making up the walls of the prison, looking out over the city at the damaged bridge, Gulph discovered that his new companion wasn't as broken as he'd seemed the previous night.

“Fessan will come,” Ossilius hissed. “I know it. I will soon see my son again.”

“He'll have to be quick,” Gulph replied.

They watched in silence as another gang of laborers was marched out of the castle, their legs in chains. Men had been toiling all night to complete the work Nynus had begun but, as far as Gulph could see, the gap between the two ends of the broken bridge had grown no wider. Like the roots of a mighty oak tree, the jutting stonework held fast to the sides of the chasm, showing little sign of further collapse.

“The gap can be crossed,” Ossilius insisted. “Fessan will bring woodsmen, siege engines. He will find a way.” His face fell. “But you are right, Gulph. It cannot hold forever. Sooner or later the rest of the Idilliam Bridge will fall, and the city will be cut off from Toronia. Then it will all be over.”

Gulph suspected it might be over already, but he clapped Ossilius on the back. “Then let's hope Fessan comes sooner.”

There was a commotion at the entrance to the cell. The other prisoners surged toward the noise, then immediately fell back, creating a space around the door. The lock clicked and the door opened with a hideous metallic squeal to reveal Blist standing in full armor, a barbed whip dangling from his hand. Behind him stood six other guards, all heavily armed.

Gulph shrank back against the bars, wondering what violence was about to ensue.

“It's your lucky day!” Blist boomed. “You've all got a free pass out of this stinking hole. Are you ready to step outside?”

Muttered conversation broke out, but it died away as the guards dropped great lengths of chain onto the floor. Leg irons were set at regular intervals along the coils. This didn't look like freedom to Gulph.

“The king is impatient,” Blist went on. “He wants the bridge destroyed, and he wants it done quick. So you lot are going to help.”

“I'd rather stay here,” growled one of Gulph's cell mates. “That bridge goes down, we all go down.”

Blist cracked his whip. The sound echoed like an explosion around the cell. Gulph flinched.

“If you do”—he laughed—“you won't be missed.”

Under the watchful gaze of the armed guard, Gulph, Ossilius, and the others were marched out of the cell and split into several groups. The prisoners in each group were tethered together. Gulph moved his feet, testing the weight of the irons around his ankles. They were incredibly heavy; walking was going to be agony.

“You!” A hand clamped around the back of Gulph's neck and pulled him violently around. Gulph found himself staring at a grubby man with a face like a weasel. At first he didn't recognize his assailant. Then it came to him.

“Elrick?” he gasped. “General Elrick?”

The last time Gulph had seen him was at the fateful performance in the Great Hall, when he'd first been taken from his friends and thrown into the Vault of Heaven. Memories of that awful day flooded back, not least the tearful expression on Pip's face as they'd been parted. Where was Pip now? And what of the rest of the Tangletree Players?

Gulph's stomach tightened as he contemplated the idea that he might never see his friends again.

Or worse: that they were dead.

“It's your fault I'm in here!” General Elrick was crazed, a scrawny shadow of the smartly dressed soldier Gulph remembered. Yet another loyal servant of whom Magritt had grown tired. “You and your ragamuffin friends! I'm going to kill you!”

Elrick's hands closed around Gulph's throat, cutting off his windpipe. Gulph pawed uselessly at the man's arms, but Elrick was strong. The more Gulph tried to breathe, the more his lungs protested. His breath turned to hot iron. Eyes bulging, he tried to call to the guards, but they were just standing back and enjoying the show.

Suddenly, Captain Ossilius was there, drawing back his fist and punching Gulph's assailant square in the face. There was a crunch. Elrick flew backward, his hands releasing Gulph to clamp themselves against his nose.

Gulph reeled backward, drawing in agonizing breaths through a throat that felt no bigger than a hollow reed.

“You broke my face!” Elrick yelped, tottering against the pull of the leg irons. Blood squirted between his fingers.

“Try that again and I'll break more!” snapped Ossilius. “You're a snake, Elrick. The reason you're in here is all the years you spent sucking up to Brutan. Now he's crow bait, and you're in the Vault of Heaven. I'd call that justice.”

“You don't scare me,” Elrick whimpered.

“I rather think I do. If you ever lay a finger on my friend here again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

As the guards marched them past the giant brazier and away from the cell bay, Gulph gradually recovered his breath. He rubbed his aching neck.
My friend
, he thought. He was glad to have Captain Ossilius with him.

  •  •  •  

By the time they reached the Idilliam Bridge, Gulph's legs were in agony and his ankles were rubbed raw and bleeding. Walking with the chains was like wading through thick mud—except the mud had teeth.

The sun lanced down through swirling gray clouds of dust. Shadows floated in the murk: long lines of men pounding the rock with sledgehammers. The ground shook with each blow, and each blow was accompanied by a chorus of grunts. Some of the men chanted workhouse songs. It was a scene of muscle and barely contained chaos.

Prowling among the chain gangs was a figure Gulph didn't recognize: a slender man dressed in fine robes. On his head was a ring of gold.

The crown of Toronia.

Nynus!

When Nynus drew near to them, he turned his face fully into the light and Gulph saw it wasn't just the crown Nynus was wearing. His entire face was covered by a mask, shielding him from the sun he hated so much.

The mask bore human features, sculpted from gold, their contours smoothed and simplified. The closer Gulph looked, however, the more he felt chilled. There was something wrong with the fierce angle of the eyes, something too angular about the heavy brow. The golden lips curled in a sneer, revealing ferocious teeth. It looked nightmarish.

Nonetheless, as the king strode toward the prisoners, Gulph shuffled out of the line. Nynus had thought him his friend once. If he could just talk to him, maybe he could persuade the king to let them go. . . .

Nynus drew level with Gulph. The golden mask swiveled to face him. Gulph opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, the sun burst through the floating dust, bathing the mask with light. The gold seemed to catch fire, a dazzling explosion in the hazy air. Staring at the unwavering eyes inside the mask, Gulph saw that Nynus hadn't just retreated from the sun—he'd retreated from everything. The young king, the wretched boy he'd saved from the Black Cell, was now entirely out of reach.

Gulph shuffled back into line.

“Show me what you can break!” Nynus said. The mask muffled his voice. “If all you men work together, there is no reason we cannot break the world!”

Several of the prisoners exchanged uneasy glances at this. Nynus walked on past, showing no sign of recognizing Gulph as he did so.

I don't recognize you either
, thought Gulph sadly.

At Blist's command, the guards escorted Gulph's gang to the place where the end of the bridge met the chasm's edge. To their left and right, similar gangs were hammering at the rock. Their bodies and faces were caked with dust.

A pickax was thrust into Gulph's hand. He thought briefly of using it to cut through the chains around his ankles. It was more likely he'd cut off his foot. Bracing himself, he swung the ax over his shoulder and began to hack at the ground.

The sharp metal head made little impression on the hard rock, and the blows sent painful shock waves through his back and arms. The prisoners were like ants nibbling at a mountain.

Yet, little by little, Gulph could see that progress was being made. Each time he looked up, fresh cracks had appeared in the ground. Sooner or later, what remained of the bridge would be destroyed.

A scream rang out. Gulph looked up in time to see a section of rock break away from the rest and slide into the chasm. Four prisoners from the Vault were clinging to it, scrabbling frantically in their desperate attempts to reach safety. Back on solid ground, their companions were shouting and clawing at their leg irons.

The men's chains drew tight. One by one, the remaining members of the gang were dragged over the edge and into the abyss, where they fell shrieking to their deaths.

Gulph felt the blood drain from his face. Around him, the other members of his gang had stopped to watch too. Shared glances confirmed that they all understood the terrible situation: if one died, they all died.

Blist's whip cracked and they bent to their labors again. Smaller and lighter than the men around him, Gulph stumbled constantly as the sweating bodies of his fellow workers slammed into him. Every time he fell, Ossilius was there.

“Stay strong, little one,” Ossilius said as he picked up Gulph yet again. “Fessan will come.”

Gulph admired his fortitude, but there seemed little hope of rescue now. Nynus had commanded them to break the world. And that, it seemed, was exactly what they were bound to do.

T
arlan didn't think he would ever get used to how green the world was beyond Yalasti. Flying over Ritherlee, he'd been constantly amazed by the countless subtle changes in color and tone of the landscape below him: young crops shining with sap; steep meadows edged with yellow where the soil supporting them slid slowly off the underlying bedrock; the cloudy masses of woodland leaves.