Una crawled inside and, with a last great effort, shut the door.
17
Caught up in the flow of people streaming through the gate, Felix struggled to break free, determined not to be separated from his father and sister. He lost hold of Nurse somewhere in the crush and could not find her again. He was helpless, pulled against his will down the road away from the palace and toward Sondhold. Nearly halfway down the hill, he spotted an opening in the crowd and darted for it. He broke from the swarm, tumbling off the road into a ditch. Mud spattered his face and thorns bit his hands, but he breathed in relief.
Shaking his head and pushing back thorns, he sat upright and tried to take stock of his surroundings. Screams battered the air around him, and he realized that they did not come only from those fleeing the palace.
Stumbling, he climbed out of the ditch and up the rough hillside until he found a large boulder projecting from the ground. Pulling himself up on top, Felix owned a view of both the palace above him and the city spread out below.
The city was in flames.
Felix felt his heart in his throat and thought it might choke him. Sondhold was under attack. Even in the harbor he could see ships’ masts burning like torches. And what of Ramgrip, the old fortress built long ago to protect the city? All was dark there, cast into shadow under the glare of the fire in the city.
But who would attack Parumvir? They were at peace with all the surrounding kingdoms, had been for over a hundred years. Fidel had no enemies, couldn’t possibly have them.
“Father,” Felix whispered, gazing at the burning city, hearing sounds of terror that chilled him to the bone. He felt very young and very small.
Steeling himself, he leapt from the boulder and tumbled to the rough turf. He was on his feet in a moment and running toward the palace as fast as his legs could bear him. He needed to find his father.
The white walls seemed ghostly in the evening as he pounded uphill toward them. His steps slowed unwillingly, for a terror hitherto unknown rose in his breast as he neared those familiar walls. It was most like fear of the dark; a fear not of what the darkness could hide, but of everything the dark represented and the very absence of light. This was the sensation that coursed in his veins, filling him with dread as he approached his home.
In the darkness above the wall he saw suddenly two balls of fire that shredded the night sky with wicked light. Realizing that they were eyes, Felix threw himself on the ground. Horror gripped him as he cowered on the hillside, certain those eyes had seen him, certain he would be devoured.
But nothing happened.
At last he found the strength to raise his head to look. The eyes were gone. He crawled forward again, pulled himself to his feet, and made himself continue to climb. I must find Father! The urgent thought repeated in his head with each step, and he focused on it, trying not to think of the eyes.
Smoke drifted in the air down the hillside – dragon smoke.
“Father!” Felix called, his voice faint with terror but determined. He was near the gate now, which stood open wide. His gaze darted over the road for any sign of the king.
A body lay just off the road, a lump in the shadows only a few yards from the gate.
Felix sucked in a sharp breath and rushed to it. “Father!” Felix grabbed the king by the shoulders and rolled him over. Fidel was not only alive but still conscious, though his breath came uneasily as fumes thickened the air around them.
“Una,” he moaned.
Casting desperate glances over his shoulder, terrified that the awful eyes would appear again at any moment, Felix helped his father to his feet. The prince had not yet come into his manly size, but he pulled Fidel’s arm over his bony shoulders and, supporting him as best he could, started down the hill away from the palace.
“Una,” the king moaned again.
“Shhh, Father,” Felix pleaded.
“Is that you, Felix?”
“Yes, Father.”
“We must save Una.” Fidel struggled to stand on his own. He collapsed and nearly brought the boy down with him. Felix clenched his teeth and used all his strength to keep them both upright. His father was near fainting, and Felix didn’t know what he would do if Fidel lost consciousness. He had not the strength to carry the king on his own.
“Come, Father,” he said, murmuring encouraging words as he half carried Fidel down the hill and off the road. The rough terrain was difficult to traverse in the dark, and more than once Felix thought they would tumble headlong.
Felix recognized the boulder he had climbed before. He gently leaned his father against it. “I’ll be right back,” he said and scrambled up once more.
The flames in the city rose higher, particularly in the western quarter. People streamed out of it on all sides, fleeing into the surrounding countryside. Torches flashed at the bottom of the hill road. Dark figures were approaching.
Felix leapt down, praying he had not been spotted. He crawled to his father and put his arms around him, desperately trying to think. Where were their guards? Where could they go? Questions swirled in his head, but no answers came.
“You’re trembling,” Fidel said, his voice frail. “What’s wrong?”
Felix did not like to answer when his father was so weak, but he did not know what else to do. “The city is under attack,” he whispered, feeling guilty as he spoke, as though he were confessing a crime. “Men with weapons are coming this way.”
Fidel growled and struggled to his feet, shaking off Felix’s protesting hands. He looked around the boulder, clutching it for support. What he saw confirmed Felix’s words, and he hissed curses through clenched teeth.
Felix hurried to put an arm around his father. The dark figures on the road had already covered half the distance between them. The prince could only hope they had not been seen.
“We must make for Ramgrip,” Fidel whispered. “General Argus will have mustered the men by now if the fort is not taken.”
“But how can we?” Felix asked. “Whoever that is coming up the hill, they’re between us and the fort, and it’s at least three miles to Ramgrip.”
“Courage, son,” Fidel said. “Argus will try to find me, but we must get off this hill. Come, help me.”
Felix and his father skulked into the shadows far off the road, making their way down the southern side of Goldstone Hill. Goldstone Wood loomed near, and Felix feared his father would insist they take shelter under those dark trees. Fidel’s breath came in labored gasps, and Felix found himself bearing more and more of his father’s weight. The king teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
“Mreeeow?”
Felix gasped and nearly lost his grip on the king. A slinky form emerged from the darkness and wrapped around his ankles.
“Monster!” Felix muttered. “Dragons eat you, cat. Go away!” He kicked the blind cat from between his feet. Monster came back and continued rubbing and purring frantically. Felix scowled at him. “Fine,” he hissed. “You can come. But don’t think I’m going to coddle you, creature.”
The cat ran ahead a few steps, looked back and meowed, then slipped away into the darkness only to appear again at Felix’s feet a moment later. “I’m not following you,” Felix muttered. “You’re blind, stupid.”
“Mreaaa!” the cat squawked and sank a set of dagger-like claws into Felix’s leg.
“Mreaa, yourself! Dragons eat – ” Felix stopped, ground his teeth, then kicked again. The cat dodged as easily as though it could see him. It continued to pace back and forth, leading the way and looping back to make certain the prince was still coming. And Felix, rather to his disgust, realized that as he followed the cat, he found better footing in the dark.
The sounds of pursuit drew closer. Felix looked back to see torches flashing just beyond an outcrop of rocks. He saw a thicket of bushes not far ahead and made for it as fast as he could with his burden. Unable to be gentle in his haste, he dropped his father to the ground. The king moaned, and Felix winced but continued
his hurried actions.
Pushing his father, he whispered, “Crawl into the bushes, quick.” He could hear men’s voices calling to each other, so close. “Hurry, Father!” His heart raced, and he felt he would be sick.
Don’t think, he told himself. Don’t think!
“Felix?” the king called feebly, but too late.
Felix sprang away from the thicket, running and leaping until he was several yards away. He jumped onto a boulder and shouted, “Here! Here! Over here!” waving his arms in the dark.
Three tall figures with torches turned his way. Felix leapt from the boulder and sprinted down the hill away from his father. Shouts followed him.
“Is that the prince?”
“Prince Felix! Your Highness!”
Don’t think! Felix half ran and half fell in the dark down the hillside.
Two more figures appeared suddenly in his path, but his momentum was too great to turn aside. He fell into their arms, struggling and kicking, unable to free himself.
“Prince Felix?” a deep voice asked. “Is that you?”
“Let me go!” he shouted hopelessly.
“If that’s you, Your Highness,” the speaker said, “we are the king’s men.”
“Liars!” Felix cried.
“Indeed not, prince,” the speaker insisted, quickly pulling back a hand when Felix tried to bite. “I am Captain Durand. General Argus sent me and my men to find you, your father, and the princess. Argus is holding the duke’s men off at the base of the hill, but we are gravely outmatched. We must get you away from here.”
Running footsteps told Felix that his three pursuers were catching up. Even so, he settled down in his captors’ grasp. “The duke?” he asked, panting.
“The Duke of Shippening,” Captain Durand said. “He has attacked Sondhold in full force without warning. We are undermanned at Ramgrip. General Argus will not keep him from the palace long. Where is your father, prince? We met many people fleeing from the palace, but they could give us no word of the king.”
A shout interrupted whatever answer Felix may have given. Five horsemen rode up. By the torchlight, Felix could see that one of the riders supported King Fidel in front of him. The king clung weakly to the pommel of the saddle, but his eyes glittered when they fell on Felix.
“Bring him to me,” he commanded, his voice quavering.
Durand and the other soldier holding Felix’s arms escorted him to his father. The king took hold of the front of Felix’s shirt and, with surprising strength, lifted him to his toes. He glared fiercely into Felix’s eyes.
“Don’t you ever try to save me again,” he growled, his voice tight with anger. “I will not have you risk your life for me. Understand?”
Felix swallowed hard and nodded. Fidel let him go and sagged back into the arms of the rider.
“Give him a horse,” Durand said. One of the five horsemen dismounted and hoisted Felix into the saddle in his place. “Ride to the garrison in Dompstead,” the captain said. “General Argus will join you there as soon as he can. I fear we will be forced from Sondhold before the night is through.”
Fidel rallied himself one last time. “Una?” he breathed.
“Do not fear, Your Majesty,” Captain Durand said. “We’ll find your daughter.”
Without another word the horsemen started down the hill at a trot. Felix clung to the horse’s mane, but the beast seemed fairly sure-footed in the dark.
“Mreeeow?”
The prince heard the small cry and pulled his horse up short before he’d ridden ten paces.
“Your Highness,” Captain Durand said. “What are you – ”
Ignoring the captain, Felix leapt from the saddle. Monster materialized from the night at his ankles. He scooped the cat up, draped him over his shoulder, and scrambled back into the saddle. Monster’s claws dug painfully into his shoulder, but Felix didn’t care. He urged the horse to catch up with the others, holding on to the cat with one hand.
18
As she came slowly awake, Una’s chest felt as though it had been burned hollow, and her eyes stung. An overwhelming sense of nightmare surrounded her. When at last full consciousness crept in, she could only plead with her own mind. No, please. Please, be a dream. Just another bad dream.
But it was no dream. She realized that she must open her eyes. She did and found herself lying on her back in a dim and dusty enclosure, gazing up at tight, crisscrossed ropes. A moment later she recognized that she was under her own bed and vaguely remembered crawling beneath it the night before. She rubbed her face, which was crusty with dried tears, unbent her cramped limbs, and pushed herself out from under the mattress.
The silence oppressed her, for she had never before heard anything like it. Always there had been some form of chatter or clatter in the background, servants hurrying hither and yon, coachmen calling in the courtyard, Nurse’s prattle, courtiers and dignitaries – Oriana Palace was always full of sound.
Now all was deathly quiet.
Slowly Una got to her feet. The room was so dim, she could not tell if it was morning or evening. She went to her window and put her hands to the curtains. As she pushed them back, swirling smoke, black and dreadful, filled her gaze. She pressed her nose to the window, trying to see out. Here and there the smoke thinned, and she caught glimpses of the garden, charred and burning.
A heavy movement to the right drew her eye. She glimpsed a great black wing.
Pressing her hands to her mouth, she let the curtain fall back into place and stumbled away from the window into her shadowy room. She stood a moment in the middle of the chamber as though frozen. Then she whirled and darted to her door, wrenched it open, and slipped into the hallway. She closed the door softly, afraid of making noise in that awful silence.
The vast, empty palace loomed about her. She crept along the wall, down the corridor, and turned a corner into another hall, then on to a tall window, which afforded a view all the way down the hill into Sondhold. One could even see the market lawn from this vantage point.
Una looked.
Through the screen of smoke, far down below the hill, Sondhold burned.
Her city! Una clutched the windowsill for support. Her home!
“Father.” She found herself screaming, her voice echoing down the long empty passages. “Father! Felix! Nurse!” She sank to her knees, still clutching the windowsill. Panic seized her, and she succumbed to sobbing without control.
“Leonard,” she whispered.
Only the silence answered.
–––––––
“Dragon!”
Una startled at the voice in the courtyard. She could not guess how long she’d been prostrate on the floor. The hysterics had passed, but she had not moved. Who was there to care if she did not?
But now as the bellowing voice echoed in the courtyard, she scrambled up and tried to peer through the smoke. These windows did not offer the best view of the yard. She picked up her skirts and rushed through the empty halls to her father’s study, with its windows that looked out on the gates and across most of the courtyard.
She came to his door and, from habit, raised her hand to knock but stopped herself. Shaking her head, Una stepped inside. The room was dark as night, for the drapes were drawn. She flung them open and found a fairly clear view before her.
The Duke of Shippening sat on a nervous gray horse in the middle of the smoke-filled yard. “Dragon!” he barked. A handful of soldiers wearing the Shippening uniform lingered by the gate, apparently too frightened to venture farther in. The duke, however, knew no qualms. “Dragon!” he cried. “Come out!”
The great front door of the palace opened. Una’s heart went to her mouth as the man with the white face and the black-red eyes stepped out into the yard.
He’s been inside.
She thought she might faint but grabbed the window frame and made herself watch the scene unfolding below.
“There you are,” the duke cried, spurring his horse across the ashy stone
s to move closer to the man. The horse tossed its head nervously but seemed more afraid of its master, for it did not bolt though the whites of its eyes showed. “I’ve been calling forever. Where’ve you been?”
“I am here now,” the man said.
“So you are,” the duke conceded. He dismounted and marched up to the man, his face red and swollen like a tom turkey’s. “Where is she?”
“Who?” the man asked.
“You know who I mean.” The duke swore, his voice reverberating. “Did you let her escape like you did her father and brother?”
“If you mean the princess,” the man said, idly rubbing his fingernails on his sleeve, “she is inside.”
“In the dungeons?”
“No.”
“What’s to keep her from waltzing out of there as easily as the king and that puny prince did, I ask you? A fine job you did holding your end of our bargain. ‘You take the city,’ said you, ‘leave the royal family to me.’ Well, I’ve taken the city sure enough, but where’s the royal family? All escaped to Dompstead by now.”
The man with the white face gave the duke a look that sent a chill through Una’s heart, though the duke seemed not to notice. “The princess is inside,” the man said.
“Give her to me, then,” the duke said.
Una’s grip on the window frame tightened.
The man with the white face snorted and turned his back on the duke.
“You promised!” the duke cried. “You promised she’d be my wife and the throne would be mine legitimately!”
“That cannot be as long as the king and his male heir are alive,” the man said over his shoulder, striding toward the gardens. “Finish your job by them first. She’s not ready yet anyway.”
“Not ready yet?” the duke thundered. “What’s she got to be ready for? She’s mine, Dragon. You promised! Give her to me!” He ran after the man in the black cloak and grabbed him by the shoulder. The man turned, and suddenly he was grown twice, three times, six, ten times larger, until his body, black and scale-covered and gnarled, towered above the duke, and Una smothered a scream in her hands and leapt back from the window. She closed her eyes, her hands wrapped over the top of her head, willing herself to wake from this nightmare.