The Coldstone Conflict Page 7

“Hmm … troglodytes, then. Weird: I ain’t seen none o’ them for donkey’s. Which way they ’eadin’?”

  “The same way we are, by the looks of it.”

  “Reckon you can attack one ’n’ steal his armor?”

  “No!”

  “Didn’ fink so. Best you follow ’em, then.”

  Diek glanced despondently at the passing marchers, then waited a few minutes and crept along in their wake.

  “What if they’re about to go to war or something?” he whispered, desperately trying to avoid the more crackly of the twigs that cluttered the path.

  “They are, prob’ly. I ain’t never ’eard of an army marchin’ to peace.”

  “Good point.”

  Diek tried to sneak a little closer to the last rank of troops, but found his confidence shaken when two of the creatures repeatedly glanced back toward him. It was as if they had second sight!

  “Don’ let ’em get ’way,” Groan grumbled.

  Diek mouthed a silent curse at the box, but continued to trail after the marchers, being careful to distance himself from the back pair, whom he now strongly suspected were psychic.

  “Whass ’app’nin’ now?” asked Groan.

  “Shhh: nothing!”

  “TELL ME WHASS ’APP’NIN’!”

  “All right! I can’t see at the moment; I need to—”

  Diek suddenly stopped talking: a troglodyte had stepped out of the trees and was standing in front of him, a bemused expression on its face.

  “Let me give you some advice, kid,” it said, as the warband shuffled to a halt. “When you’re following people, it’s really best not to TALK IN A LOUD VOICE … because the people you’re following tend to hear you.”

  Diek didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the box.

  “See what you’ve done now? I told you to be quiet!”

  “Yeah, an’ I tol’ you I’d kick yer stinkin—”

  “Er … HELLO,” said Burnie, waving a hand between the boy’s face and the box he was carrying. “I’m still here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, yes,” Diek replied, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you following us?”

  The boy looked down at the box again, but no voice came from within.

  “We … I … was just walking through …”

  “The Carafat Jungles,” Burnie finished. “Pound for pound, the most inhospitable pocket of terrain in the whole of Illmoor. Out for a stroll, were you?”

  “No! I … we …”

  “You keep saying we, I notice. Who’s in the box, a demon of some sort?”

  “Who you callin’ a demon, trogsnot?”

  Burnie stared fixedly at the box.

  “I don’t know—who am I talking to, exactly?”

  “Gr—”

  “I’m Diek Wustapha,” came the unexpected interruption. “Very pleased to meet you, Mister …?”

  “Burnie,” said Burnie, taking the boy’s free hand and shaking it vigorously. “I take it you’re not the Diek Wustapha?” he added. “As in, the evil sorcerer who kidnapped the children of Dullitch … hahahaaha!”

  Diek thought for a moment, then decided to plump for honesty.

  “Actually,” he said, “I am.”

  The troglodyte’s grin remained.

  “You are …?”

  “Diek Wustapha. Though, to be honest, I don’t actually feel all that evil.”

  “But you are the rat-catcher?”

  “Yes.”

  “The rat-catcher who mysteriously showed up in Dullitch, rid the city of rats, then came back for all the children.”

  “I was under the influence of some very dark magic at the time.”

  “I know that,” said Burnie, hurriedly. “I was just starting out on my first council job when it all happened. Aren’t you a little … young to be Diek Wustapha?”

  “I’ve been … in an alternate dimension,” the boy explained.

  Burnie flashed him a disbelieving smile.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Well, Mr. Wustapha, please stop following us—or you’re going to end up having a very bad day.”

  The little troglodyte turned and began to walk away.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Diek yelled after him. “I’m sick of nobody believing me when I’m telling the truth! I am Diek Wustapha, damn it, and I really have been trapped in an alternate dimension!”

  “Of course you have!”

  “It’s TRUE! I was released earlier today, when someone opened a portal at Dullitch Palace. I escaped on a magic broom, and ended in loads of trouble I didn’t go looking for … again! If you don’t believe me, ask Groan Teethgrit: he’s inside this box!”

  Burnie stopped dead in his tracks, and slowly turned around.

  “What did you say?”

  When the Royal Consort dropped anchor at Spittle Harbor, a carriage was already waiting for Lady Vanya. She nodded to the footman and climbed inside hurriedly, followed by Effigy, Jimmy and Obegarde. Horses were urged into a trot, and the carriage began to move.

  “My father never wastes time,” she said. “I don’t doubt that he has probably sent for the other lords already.”

  “A relief, to be sure,” said Effigy, sagging slightly in his seat. The coach had picked up speed and was now practically rocketing through the crowded streets of Spittle.

  “Do you think he will let us in on the meeting?” Jimmy asked, expecting the answer “no.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” said Vanya. “I have told him to expect you as special guests. Besides, my father will value your intricate knowledge of the capital. He’s a very wise man.”

  “Er … not to be rude,” said Jimmy, “but how do you know I’ve got an intricate knowledge of the capital?”

  Vanya shrugged. “You’re a thief, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, he’s a gravedigger,” said Obegarde, with a crafty smile. “But let’s just say that, from time to time, he inexplicably finds himself in other people’s houses.”

  Jimmy glared at him.

  “Well, I’m sure you will all be valued as advisors, nevertheless.”

  “I hope so,” said Effigy, his voice on the verge of exhaustion. “I don’t think I’ve got the energy to escape from another city.”

  The group arrived at Spittle Tower, where Vanya departed to one of the many outbuildings while the rest of them were quickly ushered inside (though not before Obegarde had voiced his astonishment at the sight of the structure). The tower’s inner door creaked open and the trio was met by two royal pages and an old man who turned out to be the tower’s ageing caretaker: he immediately noted their expressions of disbelief.

  “I take it none of you have ever visited the greatest wonder on Illmoor?” he said, yawning afterward.

  “Er … never,” Effigy confirmed. “And, to be honest, I can’t believe anyone can li—”

  “I’ve been here before,” said Jimmy suddenly, causing everyone to turn and stare at him.

  Effigy raised an eyebrow. “You have?”

  “Yeah. I … did a few jobs here, in my youth. Actually, I—”

  “Yes, well, probably the less said about that, the better,” Obegarde interrupted, turning back to the old man. “You were about to say something?”

  “I was,” said the caretaker, with a sigh. “You need to be particularly careful when walking these halls. As you can see, they slant somewhat, and it is very easy to damage your lower back if you don’t hold on to the ring-pulls that line the walls—like this one.” He took hold of an iron circle and tugged on it. “Do you understand the concept?”

  Jimmy, Obegarde and Effigy all shared a glance.

  “I think so,” said the vampire.

  “Good. You may proceed.”

  The pages bowed before the old man, as if they were going through some sort of ritual, and began to climb up the corridor. Effigy and Jimmy followed close behind, with a sniggering Obegarde bringing up the rear.

  “
So how old is this place?” said Effigy, conversationally.

  The second page didn’t turn around.

  “Four hundred years,” he muttered.

  “Really?” Effigy spluttered. “Ha! And it’s been at this angle the whole time?”

  “No. It started to lean approximately one hundred and fifty years ago, and has gradually moved closer to the ground over the last twenty years. It is an … unfortunate, yet beautiful construct. Ah—here we are …”

  They arrived at a set of double doors in the east wall. Keeping one hand wedged firmly inside the iron ring, the leading page reached over and flung open the portal.

  “Your visitors have arrived, Earl Visceral,” he announced, making a leap for the ring on the other side of the corridor so that he could clear a path for the group’s entrance. His colleague quickly joined him.

  “Ah … very good,” came a loud reply from within the room. “Do have them come in.”

  “I might have to fly,” Obegarde whispered. His words provoked a none-too-friendly glare from the two pages, who didn’t appreciate their workplace being mocked.

  Effigy was the first to work his way inside, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the throne room possessed a much kinder slant. He managed to half slide, half scramble his way to a chair, and quickly sat in it, relieved to find that it was nailed to the floor. He gave an audible sigh of relief.

  “I must apologize for the agility required to visit me in my humble home,” said Earl Visceral, his voice ringing with sincerity. “I do forget how it must feel at first, having got so used to the place myself.”

  “Not a problem at all, your Majesty,” Effigy replied, ignoring the struggles of his two friends as they fought to get to their own chairs. “I am Effigy Spatula, a resident of Dullitch and the spokesperson for our small group.”

  “I see. Well, before we go into the details of this terrible business, perhaps you will be kind enough to introduce your friends?”

  “Of course. This is Jimmy Quickstint: thief, gravedigger and resident of Dullitch.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure—as long as you’re not planning to bury or steal from any of my residents.”

  Jimmy smiled weakly. “Of course not, Majesty.”

  “Jareth Obegarde,” Effigy continued. “A vampire detective and resident of Dullitch.”

  Earl Visceral nodded. “Now you I have heard of.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed: you were instrumental in the rescue of Viscount Curfew from his kidnappers, were you not?”

  “Er … well, yes, but—”

  “So was I!” Jimmy interrupted. “So how come you haven’t heard of me?” He muttered something under his breath, then appeared to remember who he was talking to, and added: “Sorry, Majesty.”

  Earl Visceral seemed to find the outburst amusing, and was trying to stifle a smirk.

  “While we’ve chanced upon the subject of Viscount Curfew’s kidnapping,” Effigy said, not relishing the long story that lay ahead of him, “it is the firm belief of our friend and colleague, Burnie, that Viscount Curfew never returned from his kidnapping … and was killed during the event.”

  Earl Visceral looked suddenly confused.

  “Then who has been sitting on the throne?” he said. “And who have I been having trade dinners with for the past year? An impostor? You can’t seriously—”

  “We do, your Majesty. I have seen the impostor’s true face, and his identity is no longer a mystery: he is a sorcerer called Sorrell Diveal.”

  Earl Visceral opened and closed his mouth several times, then reached for a goblet and unclipped a makeshift lid in order to drink from it.

  “Sorrell Diveal is my cousin,” he said, after the third gulp.

  “Yes, your Majesty: we understand that Lord Diveal was a disgraced noble who studied sorcery and disappeared in mysterious circumstances when—”

  “You’re absolutely CERTAIN that Diveal has returned? You’ve seen him, unmasked, you say?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Effigy managed. He went on, choosing his words with care, “We also believe him to be responsible for the murder of your other cousin, Viscount Curfew. But, begging your Majesty’s pardon, I’m afraid the situation has become much, much worse …”

  Earl Visceral replaced his goblet, and steeled himself.

  “My daughter mentioned something about dragons …”

  “If only that were the sole peril,” Effigy continued. “The fact of the matter is that Sorrell Diveal, whether by chance or true intention, has somehow managed to release a terrible being from the void.”

  “Please—continue …”

  Effigy looked to Obegarde to take up the story.

  “Basically,” the vampire muttered, “we think—and it is only a series of suspicions at present—that Diveal has released this … thing … into the body of Groan Teethgrit.”

  “Teethgrit!” Earl Visceral licked his lips and swallowed a few times. “The King of Phlegm has become a vessel for a dark entity?”

  “It gets worse yet,” Jimmy warned. “Groan’s brother, Gape, and his companion, dwarf mercenary Gordo Goldeaxe, now serve him as some breed of grave-walking personal bodyguards.”

  “B-but how did Groan Teethgrit and his team come to be in the palace in the first place?”

  “We don’t know,” Jimmy admitted, taking up the story. “But soon after the trouble started, Effigy, myself and a few others marched a crowd to the gates, in rebellion.”

  “We were met by the fiend himself,” Obegarde added. “Along with two obsidian dragons, who pretty much cleared the grounds of everyone except Effigy.”

  Earl Visceral raised an eyebrow at the freedom fighter.

  “Oh, it wasn’t bravery,” Effigy assured him. “I thought they were an illusion of some sort … until I felt the heat from their breath.”

  “This … dark lord … has a name, I assume?”

  Effigy nodded. “He called himself Vanquish.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Jimmy. “His voice was weird too: it definitely wasn’t Groan’s, that’s for sure.”

  “Tell the truth, boy! Tell the truth!”

  The troglodyte warband surrounded Diek Wustapha, who was beginning to feel like an insect in a jar.

  “I am!” Diek screamed. “Groan Teethgrit IS in this box, I swear it!”

  “Groan Teethgrit is nearly eight feet tall!” Burnie yelled back.

  “It’s just his mind that’s in here, then, or something … I’m TELLING YOU, he’s in—”

  “Don’t waste our time, boy! We haven’t got all day to stand here deliberating with you about—”

  “Right! That’s it!” Diek put the box on the jungle floor and tapped on it. “Groan? Groan! Speak! Say something to let them know you’re in there.”

  Silence: the barbarian didn’t make a sound.

  Burnie smiled humorlessly.

  “Listen, boy,” he said, slowly. “You’re really, seriously beginning to annoy me.”

  “But he’s only keeping quiet because we had this argument about Dullitch and he wants to get me back.”

  Burnie gritted his teeth.

  “Look, there’s something serious going on in Dullitch, and Groan Teethgrit is right in the middle of it, so don’t be telling me that—”

  “ ’Ow can I be causin’ trouble in Dullitch when I’m in ’ere?” said a voice; it was loud, clear and dim.

  “G-Groan Teethgrit?” Burnie exclaimed, silencing the sudden clamor of troglodyte voices with a raised hand. “King Groan of Phlegm? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, ’sme.”

  Burnie rubbed his forehead.

  “What are you doing in the box?”

  “Nuffin’ much; bit o’ thinkin’ … but that didn’ take too long. Now I’m jus’ waitin’ fer this boy ta get me back ta Dullitch.”

  “Why?” Burnie asked. “You think Vanquish will willingly give back your body?”

  “Eh? Who’s Vanquish?”

  “The dark god who was released when—�
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  “I ’member a wizard.”

  “Sorrell Diveal! He was an impostor …”

  “Yeah! He looked jus’ like Curfew, ’til his face came off.”

  Burnie eyed the box; he was beginning to look hopeful. “Do you recall anything else, King Teethgrit?”

  “Yeah; I ’member a magic door,” said Groan suddenly, causing Burnie to lean toward the box in concentration. “I ’member turnin’ this ’ammer an’ then watchin’ meself from the back of me ’ead. I wen’ over an’ …”

  There was a moment of dreadful silence.

  “Oh no,” said Groan, sadly. “I fink I might’ve ’urt Gordo.”

  The door to the throne room opened, and Vanya Visceral walked in. To the group’s surprise, she was standing upright.

  “Hookboots,” she explained, pointing down at her footwear. “They’re a pain to get on, but they do grab the flagstones.” She smiled. “I’d certainly recommend them for the more seasoned corridor climber.”

  Earl Visceral smiled, but all the humor had vanished from his face. “Welcome home, Vanya. Your friends were just telling me of the awful business in Dullitch.”

  Vanya nodded. “We have to do something, Father. We—”

  “You do, Majesty,” Effigy cut in. “If this … thing has taken control of the capital, it won’t be long before he sets his sights north.”

  “I see that,” Visceral agreed. “But I still have some questions for you. This friend you mention—Burnie, was it?”

  “Yes: a troglodyte. He was, until recently, Chairman of Dullitch City Council, a position he had held since the time of the Yowler Uprising.”

  “Ah … I see. And where is he now—dead?”

  “No, Majesty.” Effigy shook his head. “Burnie escaped the palace, and indeed the city, when he unmasked the truth. I sent word to him of our planned meeting with you, and that we are in dire need of his help. It is my belief he will make his way here.”

  “Burnie’s a rock, your Majesty,” Jimmy commented. “You’ll like him.”

  “I’m sure to.” Earl Visceral set his face in a grim smile. “But I must warn you, gentlemen, that I have absolutely no intention of sending my army to face off against two dragons. That would make me nothing more than a murderer myself.”

  Effigy rolled his eyes. “But what about—”

  “Please let me finish. I have summoned the High Council, as you suggested. The lords of Shinbone and Sneeze will come, representing the interests of the southern towns, but Prince Blood, ruler of Legrash, has a grand army … and Phlegm may also join our cause.”