Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1) (25 page)

RINCE
R
OXLEIGH BLEW OUT THE CANDLE, AND THEY
left the cell. Carefully, they made their way down the rocks and into the boat.

“Why did everyone think you were insane?” said Oland.

“From a very early age, I had knowledge beyond my years,” said Roxleigh. “Effectively, I could see things that other people couldn't, maybe a link from one thing to another, or a future for something that seemed unimaginable or impossible. My father, King Seward… well, he thought I was a genius.” Roxleigh laughed. “He was a wonderful man, kind and generous and loving. He indulged me; he allowed me to build a laboratory in the dungeons of Castle Derrington. And so, while my peers were overhead in the arena learning sword skills that could end lives, I was learning skills that could enhance the lives of men.

“When the bermid plague struck, everything changed. As you may know, my father, King Seward, vowed to contain the plague within Decresian, despite not understanding how it had come about. He tried what he could, but nothing worked and he was devastated. The plague raged on.

“My very best friend, Rowe, and I were ‘joined at the brain' as we used to say. We worked night and day to find a way to stop the plague. We focused on how these strange ants worked. And they literally worked, almost like soldiers. They were like hybrid insects – they behaved like ants, but they were also like bees, like scorpions. We had heard the myth of the drogues, and thought that perhaps there was something to it, which is often the case with myths: they contain elements of the truth or they're exaggerated versions of the truth. We thought that perhaps on Curfew Peak there was
some
kind of hybrid beast. We didn't expect something quite as fantastical as a drogue.” He paused. “Of course, that was exactly what we found. Or rather, what Rowe found. While I manned the laboratory at Derrington, he went alone on that journey. He was always the adventurer.” He smiled. “Rowe studied the drogues for weeks, unobserved. But one day, he let his guard down, and a pack attacked him. He slew a drogue, and the rest of the pack fled.”

Oland thought of Delphi, and it sickened him. “Or the drogue was attacked by one of his pack,” he said, with new authority.

Roxleigh shook his head. “No,” he said. “Remember, I have studied these beasts for years. I have never seen evidence of that.”

“But how was Rowe able to slay a drogue?” said Oland.

“Clever man that he is, he found their weak point. Because the vertebrae of the drogue are so pronounced, Rowe had observed that the seventh one down from the head was much smaller than the others. He struck that point and, indeed, it felled the beast. He returned to Derrington, triumphant. Between Rowe's research and mine, we had discovered how the ants worked. The problem arose when I approached my father and told him how to tackle the plague. My father was sceptical, to say the least. I think his pride had been hurt and, regardless of how intelligent he believed me to be, he couldn't accept that I was right. He thought if a king could not control this plague, how could a boy of nineteen?

“And then tragedy struck. Rowe disappeared. I was distraught. We all were. Weeks passed with no sign of his return and, after much consideration, I confided in my father that Rowe had gone to Curfew Peak and had slain a drogue and that, perhaps, for some unknown reason, he had returned there.” Roxleigh took a deep breath. “I will never forget the look on my father's face – one of pity and heartbreak. It was the expression of a loving father coming to the conclusion that his son was insane, after all my time holed up in my dungeon laboratory. ‘Your beloved friend succumbed to the plague, my dear Roxleigh – nothing more fantastical than that,' he said. ‘You must understand that to believe in drogues is madness, and to say so outside the walls of this room will undermine both my rule… and your future rule.'

“I was horrified. Nothing was more important to me than Rowe. I pleaded and begged with my father; I tried to convince him. I gave him all the details I possibly could. This is what people went on to describe as ‘wild ramblings'. It was just because they didn't understand my ideas, because they were too advanced. At first, my father appeared to listen. But it transpired that he had simply become resigned to my insanity; the following night, doctors came for me, I was taken from my bed, strapped into a carriage and brought to an asylum.”

“How did you escape?” said Oland.

“I was eventually released,” said Roxleigh. “After my father died. He had signed me in for as long as he lived. Unfortunately, he lived for a very long time. And, once released, I came here, to Curfew Peak. It was, after all, the last place I thought Rowe had gone. I hoped to help him. While locked away in the asylum, I had much time to think, and I realised that Rowe's behaviour changed only after his visit to Curfew Peak. When I asked him about slaying the drogue, he appeared haunted, even though he was the victor, the one who had triumphed.

“I thought of the drogues and how curious they were and about the mongrel blood that coursed through them. I came to the conclusion that Rowe in some way had been poisoned on Curfew Peak – poisoned by the drogues. Despite the years that had passed, part of me hoped that my research was still in Castle Derrington, so I planned to travel back and search for it. Before I had a chance to, I was discovered here,” said Roxleigh. “Prison or no prison, I was still trespassing. And those who rule Curfew Peak did not want me to roam free, to reveal the secrets of the island.”

“How did King Micah know you were here?” said Oland. “How did he know to send me here?”

“A Pyreboy took pity on me,” said Roxleigh. “He had started out as my guard, but we had become friends, of sorts. Certainly, he was miserable with his life on Curfew Peak, and, like me, he wanted to be free. Though he was not from Decresian, he had ancestors there. He understood me. He was a very bright young man, who was innocent of the crime he was banished here for. He told me that King Micah, who was my brother Stanislas' son, was now ruling Decresian. It gave me hope. Stanislas, who was only a child when I was sent away, looked up to me. He always believed in me, which of course meant nothing to anyone, because he was only a boy. Of course, it meant the world to me.

“So my Pyreboy friend stowed away on the prison boat and made his way to Decresian to take my message to King Micah. It must have been fourteen years ago and I haven't heard from him since. I know now that he must have reached King Micah, because, as you said, how else would he have known where to find me? I'm trying to work out how you figure in all of this, Oland. Clearly, you are a capable young man; after all, here you are. But why did King Micah himself not come for me?”

“I'm afraid King Micah was overthrown fourteen years ago,” said Oland. “He was killed by his most loyal counsel, a man named Villius Ren.”

Roxleigh bowed his head. “Most loyal, indeed,” he said. “So King Micah may well have taken the secret of me to his grave, then,” he said. “Though he left a letter for you.”

“Why didn't the Pyreboy come back and rescue you?” said Oland.

“I don't know,” said Prince Roxleigh. “I fear that he was killed. I always expected him to come back here, of course… that was the plan. Especially as, in his absence, his youngest brother lost his way, and he himself was sent to Curfew Peak. He would have wanted to be reunited with him.”

“I've met the Pyreboys,” said Oland. “Which one is his brother?”

“Blaise,” said Roxleigh. “The Pyreboys have real names, but, as you may have noticed, when they arrive here, they are all given names connected to fire or flame, bestowed upon them as soon as they arrive on Curfew Peak.”

“And his brother – the Pyreboy who helped you?” said Oland.

“I never knew his real name,” said Roxleigh, “but his Pyreboy name was Wick.”

LAND WENT RIGID.

“What is it?” said Roxleigh. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”

“I'm sorry,” said Oland. “But there is a Wickham who joined the ranks of The Craven Lodge, the savages who support Villius Ren. They have taken over Castle Derrington; they have destroyed Decresian.”

“My beautiful Decresian,” said Roxleigh. Tears welled in his eyes.

“It has become a ruin,” said Oland.

“And Wick…” said Roxleigh. “He is still alive?”

Oland shook his head. “He fell to his death, not long ago, at Dallen Falls.”

“Do you mean he drowned?” said Roxleigh.

Oland nodded. “Yes.”

“Did you witness it?” said Roxleigh.

“Yes,” said Oland. “Well… not exactly. I saw him disappear into the water.”

“Wick is from Kaltoff,” said Roxleigh. “The land of rivers, the place where Chancey the Gold was born. Not one child from Kaltoff is anything but a superior swimmer. I wouldn't put money on your Wickham not having made it out of there alive.”

“That was why Villius Ren told the Bastion he was only one man down! He knew that Wickham was alive!”

“Blaise will help us,” said Roxleigh. “We'll wait until night falls. The Pyreboys will be going back to the shore to light the stakes. We can speak with him then.”

 

Delphi ran along the shore of Curfew Peak, the cold wind biting at her flesh. She had no idea how long she had been gone, but it was beginning to grow dark again. She had lost her cape in the water at the other end of the shore, and her loose grey top slid off one shoulder. She was desperate to find Oland, terrified that he too had been taken by the wave. All she wanted to do was to tell him everything that had happened, how the water had taken her under, dragged her into a blinding eddy, how she had been filled with horror. And how, when she tried to move, it had proved effortless. She had glided with the current; she felt like she was dancing. It was exhilarating, like nothing she could have imagined. Chancey the Gold, the scryer, her mother – they were all wrong. Why anyone had feared for her safety, she could not understand. How could such a terrible mistake have been made? She was free. There was nothing to hold her back.

As she ran along the hardened sand, it began to rumble beneath her, and before long she heard the dull sound of hooves. In seconds, the hot breath from a horse and rider turned the air white in front of her. Before she could move, a lantern, strapped to the horse's saddle, lit up the unmasked face of Malcolm Evolent. Delphi screamed.

He wore no bandages. Delphi recoiled. They had clearly been there to hide the deformity of his skull. His face looked like it had been carved from a block of bone and covered with dried parchment. His heavy brow jutted out over his nose, and his thick, wide chin curved up to meet it. A vein bulged along the side of his face. His eyes were deep-set and entirely white, like his long hair, his eyebrows, his lashes. The only dark part of Malcolm Evolent's face came from the evil that shone from inside him.

He jumped down from the horse, landing hard in front of her. He was dressed in layers of heavy leathers and cloths with crisscrossing straps and buckles. He yanked hard on the reins of his black horse. He reached a finger out towards her.

“Don't touch me,” said Delphi, whipping her head away. She couldn't understand how he had got here. But, by the shore, she could see the sails of Bream's boat whipping in the wind. She knew that it was unlikely he was still alive.

Malcolm raised his hand, covered in a heavy gauntlet, and struck Delphi across the face. She landed hard on the damp sand. Malcolm leaned slowly down to her, inching his face towards her. He reached out and shoved his hands under her armpits and picked her up, holding her in front of him like a doll.

“So,” he said, setting her down. “Do you know who you are yet?”

Delphi stared at him.

“After the swim you were warned never to take?” said Malcolm. “Are you enlightened?”

Delphi frowned.

Malcolm smiled. “Why, Delphi,” he said. “You are my most treasured possession. You are my Thousandth Soul.”