The Final Storm (4 page)

“Long before Paragor’s rebellion even,” said Kaliam. “Merewen, do you know anything of this?”

“Of his armies beneath the ground and in the mountains, yes,” she replied. “But I had no knowledge of Paragor’s dealings with the far west. I doubt very much that he would have entrusted that part of his plan to any but his closest lieutenants.”

Farix paced restlessly. “I do not understand why old allies would turn against us now.”

“Perhaps he has sent more false ambassadors,” Mallik said. “Like Count Eogan, who for a time was able to embitter Queen Illaria at Yewland against us.”

“That may be,” said Kaliam. “But I fear we are partially to blame. We have trusted in history for too long, looking to the allegiance of other more volatile kingdoms and taking the far west for granted. Candleforge, Inferness, Frostland . . . perhaps they misinterpret our lack of contact as ambivalence.”

“Or perhaps Paragor has helped them to see things in that way,” King Ravelle said. “And perhaps there is a stalwart remnant in each of those realms who remain faithful to King Eliam. It may be just a portion of their Glimpses who have renounced the old allegiances.” He paused and his voice grew deeper and more grim. “But that is enough to create an unsurpassed army. Kaliam, they are now grown to such an extent that they cannot be housed within the catacombs or mountains of Paragory. They gather openly now upon the plains of the Black Crescent. There are tents, new stables, and fires as far as the eye can see.”

“Then our course of action is clear,” Kaliam said. “We must answer the challenge by summoning all of our allies to our aid. For the first time since the Cold River Battles, we will send forth riders upon the blue dragons. They will go to the four corners of The Realm, and then we shall more than match Paragor’s force.”

The knights gathered there banged their fists on the table and cheered. But King Ravelle spoke over them. “That must be done!” he shouted, and the gathering quieted. “Send the blue dragons tonight if it may be, but you will need to do more to prepare.”

“What do you mean?” Kaliam asked.

“The walls of Alleble are mighty,” he said. “But perhaps it has been too long since an enemy has approached them.” The Knights of Alleble stared at one another.

“Many of you witnessed firsthand what Paragor did to my city,” King Ravelle went on. “And upon the plains of the Black Crescent he has put his minions to work building more weapons of war: catapults; tall, rolling siege engines; and stout battering rams—many already built as of a fortnight ago but far more being prepared. You must mobilize your engineers . . . dig rings of deep trenches far beyond your walls, so that their rolling machines cannot approach. Bring forth your own catapults. Mount them upon the turrets! And as for the walls themselves, if there is any way to fortify them against Paragory’s exploding fire weapon, you should do so.”

“Mallik?” Kaliam looked at his hammer-wielding knight.

“Aye!” he replied heartily. “I have a mind of what we can do, but . . . in order to do it we will need more skill than there is in Alleble. Let me travel to my kin in the Blue Mountains. They will come to Alleble’s aid to build and to fight!”

Kaliam grinned at his friend’s unbridled enthusiasm. “Excellent, but Mallik, instead let us send word to your kin via the dragon couriers. Perhaps you could pen a note to King Brower? We need you here.”

Mallik smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

“But can they do it in time?” Lady Merewen asked.

“I can answer that,” King Ravelle said. “The Glimpses of the Blue Mountains rebuilt my entire city in a month. They will craft new walls in far less time.”

“Good,” Kaliam said. “Even so, we need to loose the dragons as soon as may be.”

“Agreed!” Mallik bellowed. “When my doughty folk arrive, we will build such walls that should the Seven Sleepers try to breach them, they will break their teeth!”

“One more thing, Kaliam,” King Ravelle said. “After the Battle of Mithegard, a number of my best archers came to me with an idea for a new weapon.” He motioned to a nearby attendant, who handed him a very strangely shaped bundle.

King Ravelle carefully unwrapped an unusual-looking device made of wood with components of iron. It looked like a small bow laid flat and affixed to a stock of wood.

“This,” King Ravelle said proudly, “is an
arbalest
. Too often were my bowmen cut down as they struggled to aim and draw back their bows in the same instant. With the arbalest, your arrow—or
quarrel
, as we call the short arrow we have created—can be loaded and drawn back ahead of time. The archer can then aim and fire at will.”

A murmur broke out among the Knights of Alleble. “Loaded and drawn ahead of time?” one asked incredulously.

“It is so small!” scoffed another. “It will do no damage.”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” King Ravelle said. And he began to turn a small iron crank on the arbalest. Slowly, the bowstring, short though it may have been, began to stretch backward. He turned the crank until the string was as far back as it could go. Then, the attendant handed him a short arrow that was painted blue and had a long, sharp golden tip. The King placed the quarrel on top of the arbalest. He pointed it at a large silver shield that hung above the fireplace. Then, he fired.

The small shaft left the arbalest faster than the knights seated there could follow with their eyes. Suddenly, the silver shield split near the top. It fell with a crash, splintered, and bits flew into the fireplace. Sparks and embers flew everywhere, some onto the table where they sat. The knights looked up and saw the blue quarrel half embedded into the mortar of the wall.

“Nock’s going to want one of those,” Mallik said.

“Then he shall have it!” King Ravelle replied. “Kaliam, the smithies of Mithegard will deliver to you five hundred arbalests. They will be put to good use in the defense of Alleble!”

Guard’s Keep had emptied, except for Kaliam. He sat alone by the fire, turning the short arrow from the arbalest round and round in his hands. There came a soft rap at the door, and Farix entered.

“The messengers upon the blue dragons are away,” Farix said. Kaliam nodded, but Farix did not leave.

“My Sentinel,” he said, his arms crossing and his hands disappearing into the long sleeves of his surcoat. “There are many kingdoms in The Realm who ought to come to our aid. But now we hear of broken alliances—Inferness, Frostland, Candleforge. What of the others? Who will come?”

“Our true allies will come,” Kaliam said. He looked up at Farix and then quickly broke eye contact. “They will come, for the enemy brings the firstborn dragon, the Seven Sleepers, and an army of a hundred legions. If our allies do not come, and Alleble falls . . . The Realm falls with it.”

5

CLOSE CALLS

S
ure, it was scary,” Mr. Thomas continued. “But we’re safe now, back on the ground in Maryland. Yes, he’s standing right here.” He handed the phone to Aidan as they waited in some airport offices for the paramedics, along with other passengers from the flight.

“Hi, Mom!” Aidan said into the phone. “I thought we were done for, but King Eliam had other plans! . . . I know you don’t believe any of that, but you should . . . I am totally okay, Mom—but Dad’s got a great big knot on his head! They are taking him to the hospital . . . because he passed out.”

“Aidan!” His father shot him a look.

“Okay. I love you too, Mom,” Aidan said and returned the phone to his father.

Mr. Thomas sighed. “I’m really fine. It’s just precautionary, they are going to run a few tests . . . in case I have a concussion. . . . Honey, I’m sure it’s nothing.” He listened intently for a few minutes. “We’ll see you then.” He closed the cell phone. “Your mother is taking the next available flight to Baltimore.”

After loading their suitcases into the back of the taxi outside of the hospital, Aidan and his father slumped into the backseat and closed their eyes.

“Some trip, huh, Aidan?” Mr. Thomas said.

“Yeah,” Aidan replied.

“First, the flight gets delayed . . .”

“Then, we nearly crash, and you end up in the hospital.”

“I told them I didn’t have a concussion,” Mr. Thomas complained.

“So you’re an accountant—and a doctor?” Aidan laughed.

Mr. Thomas smiled, but rubbed his head. “This has been the longest day,” he said. “What time is it, anyway?”

Aidan sat bolt upright and craned around his seat to see the clock on the taxi’s dashboard. “Ten thirty, shoot! I knew I should have called Robby from the terminal. Do you think it’s too late to call?”

“Why do you need to call him?”

“I forgot to tell him how early you’d be dropping me off at his house in the morning. Do you think it’s too late to call him?”

“On a Friday night?” he replied, delicately rubbing the growing welt on his head. “No, it’s probably okay on a Friday night.” He handed Aidan the cell phone, and Aidan dialed. It rang once, twice . . . a third time, but no answer. Aidan felt something strange come over him—an urgency to hang up. Fourth ring.
“What nerve you have calling so late.”
A voice came into his mind. Fifth ring.
“You’ll make his mom angry!”
Sixth ring.
“Hang up now!!”

“Hello?” Robby answered on the seventh ring.

“Robby? Hi! It’s Aidan.”

“Uh, hey, Aidan.”

“I called to tell you what time I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”

“Uh, righight,” Robby replied, a strange detachment in his voice. “About that . . . I don’t know if that’s really a good—”

“My dad is going to drop me off about eight fifteen in the morning.”

“Eight fifteen?” Robby echoed. “Well, I was startin’ to say, uh, tomorrow I gotta—”

Aidan interrupted him again. “Good then,” Aidan said decidedly. “I’ll see you then. I can’t wait to see you, Robby. We have a lot of catching up to do. Bye.” Without waiting for a reply, Aidan closed the cell phone.

“That was kind of abrupt,” Aidan’s father said without opening his eyes.

“It was the only way I could keep him from getting out of it,” Aidan replied as the taxi came to a stop at the hotel. “I’m telling you, Dad, I don’t know what’s gotten into Robby.”

Robby stared at the phone receiver. Then he looked up at the man sitting across the kitchen table from him. He felt the man’s piercing green eyes boring into him. “He hung up on me.”

“Well, what did he say before he hung up?” the man asked pointedly.

Robby swallowed. “He said he’ll be here a little after eight in the morning.”

The man stood suddenly and knocked the phone out of Robby’s hand. It clattered to the floor and slid across the linoleum. “I told you he’s not welcome here, didn’t I?”

Robby cowered. The man stood just a foot away, and his thick, muscled arms dangled at his sides like a gunslinger’s. “Didn’t I?!”

“Uh, y-yes, sir,” Robby whispered. “But, sir, you didn’t tell me that until after I’d told him he could come.” The big man raised his hand as if to strike, but the strike didn’t come. Instead, the man laughed, and he patted Robby on the head as if he were a cocker spaniel.

“On second thought, Robby, let Aidan come,” said the big man as he turned to leave the kitchen. “I just may have to stay home from work tomorrow. It’s time to find out what Aidan’s made of.”