The greatest kingdom, p.25
The Greatest Kingdom, page 25
Anneshka wriggled deeper under her covers, wondering what it might mean. Was it a promise of victory? A show of her army’s strength?
She would work it out in the morning. For now, she needed to rest.
And so Anneshka drifted to sleep, dreaming of a great horned bull.
‘There’s a giant sertze out on the marshes?’ cried Miro. The sun had risen now. Its light poured in through the ceiling, filling every inch of the Guest Palace chamber.
‘Of course,’ said Zuby. ‘How else do you think the marshes are so full of life? The Sertze Bahnoh beats for the marshfish and the waders, for the otters and the midges and the bats, for the woolgrass and the hairy violets, for the great intermingling of life.’
The skret was stood like a preacher, clawed hands up by his head. He talked with such passion that Imogen wished she could see the sertze for herself. She pictured it full of starlight, like a miniature sun, feeding energy to the wetland.
‘If I was a rare kind of lichen,’ rasped Zuby, ‘I’d grow near that sertze too.’
‘But I spent months out there,’ cried Miro. ‘And I never saw a magic stone.’
‘No,’ said Zuby, ‘you wouldn’t have done. The heart of the marshes is submerged. Legend has it that it’s buried beneath an ancient stump … although that seems unlikely. There are hardly any trees out there.’
‘Excuse me?’ said Miro. He stood up very quickly, as if someone had yanked him to his feet.
‘It’s buried beneath an old tree stump,’ said Zuby.
‘But I’ve been there!’ Miro exclaimed.
And there was that tilting feeling – something Imogen had experienced before – the feeling of things sliding together, of events clicking into place … As if the sisters and Miro had been meant to meet, as if they were all parts of the same instrument.
‘That’s amazing!’ piped Marie, almost dropping the book in her excitement. ‘Just tell us the way to the tree stump, and we’ll go and get the Maiden’s Kiss!’
Miro hesitated. ‘Erm … There aren’t many landmarks on the marshes … it all sort of merges into one.’
There was a knock on the door and a servant stepped inside. ‘Your Highness,’ he said, with a bow. ‘A letter arrived at the Royal Palace. It was brought by a soldier on an elk. And the archers say an army has been spotted, camped on the other side of the ravine.’
Imogen’s whole body felt cold – despite the fact that it was warm in the palace, despite the fact she was surrounded by friends.
‘I wanted to tell Mage Bohoosh,’ said the servant, ‘but I can’t find him anywhere … Here is the letter. It’s addressed to you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Miro.
The wax seal on the letter was stamped with a crown. Miro broke it and unfurled the parchment. Imogen shuffled closer, keen to read for herself.
Dear Miroslav,
Fancy meeting you here. For all of these months, I had thought you were dead.
Now I hear that you’ve taken charge of Nedobyt. It seems that no matter how far I travel, no matter how many masks I tear off, the face underneath is always yours.
Prince of Yaroslav – boy king – champion …
What is it now … bog boy?
I am sure you know why I write. I am here with my army at the mouth of the ravine. Your city is but a catapult’s throw away.
Hand over Nedobyt, give me the throne. It will be the crown jewel of my empire. And so long as you surrender, nobody needs to die.
Oh, and I want Marie too.
Should you fail to comply with either request, my soldiers will kill every man, woman and child. There will be no survivors in Nedobyt. Of that, you can be sure.
I will wait until noon for your reply.
Anneshka Mazanar
Supreme Queen of Yaroslav,
Heir to the Lowland Throne,
Conqueror of Nedobyt
‘Queen of Yaroslav?’ gasped Imogen.
But that wasn’t Miro’s first concern. ‘Who told Anneshka I’m in charge?’ he cried. ‘I never agreed to rule Nedobyt … Why can’t she go somewhere else and leave me alone for once?’
‘I know the feeling,’ whispered Marie, pressing her lips together. ‘Anneshka must think Nedobyt is the greatest kingdom … I’m so sorry, Miro. I think Zuby is right. Anneshka has followed me here.’
Imogen flopped down on the bed, next to the hare and frog. I have no idea what to do, she thought. I’m totally out of my depth.
Kazimira-the-frog was sleeping, making squeaky snores. Mum snuggled against Imogen’s side.
‘I’ve got to hand myself over, haven’t I?’ said Marie. ‘I can’t let everyone die, or become slaves to Anneshka.’
‘No!’ cried Imogen, still lying on the bed. ‘Marie, you can’t!’
‘It’s me who should be handing myself over,’ muttered Miro.
‘But just think what Anneshka would do if she ruled Nedobyt,’ said Marie. ‘If she got hold of that magic pool, she’d turn everyone she didn’t like into slugs. Then she’d have even more power!’
Despite the bright morning sunlight, Imogen’s eyes felt heavy. She’d been awake all night and wanted nothing more than to sleep – to wake up and discover that this whole thing had been a horrible nightmare.
‘Don’t despair,’ croaked Zuby. ‘Anneshka still wants Marie.’
‘Zuby, that’s a bad thing,’ said Miro.
‘You could turn it to your advantage,’ said the skret.
Imogen sat up. ‘How?’
‘Why don’t we send you somewhere else?’ said Zuby, tapping at the side of his nose. ‘Somewhere you’ve got to go …’
All three children were staring at him as if he’d spoken in another tongue.
‘Oooh,’ said Konya, stepping away from the door. ‘That’s good – that’s very good! The skret is suggesting you take the bad woman to the marshland!’
Imogen’s brain was so tired, it took some time for the idea to sink in. Lure Anneshka away from Nedobyt … But would she fall for it? Didn’t she already have what she wanted? Nedobyt was as good as hers.
Ochi’s words drifted through Imogen’s head … Anneshka won’t stop hunting you until she has got what she wants. And she will never have that. It will never be enough.
‘You want me to be bait?’ Marie whispered.
Mum made a grunting sound and lashed out with her back legs. It didn’t take magical powers to understand what that meant. She did not like this plan.
‘I could go with you to fetch the lichen for Mark,’ said Zuby. ‘Didn’t the book say it grows near the Sertze Bahnoh? Well, I could help you find it. We skret are more sensitive than you humans. I should be able to feel when we’re close.’
‘That’s very kind, Zuby, but—’
‘It would be a diversion,’ cut in Miro. ‘You’d distract Anneshka, while I worked out how to close the ravine.’
Imogen looked at her friend. He did have a point … ‘It’s a good plan,’ she said, ignoring her hare-mother’s protests. ‘But how will we get past the army?’
Marie started tying her hair into a bun. She looked a little less nervous – a little more ready for action. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said.
Imogen, Marie and Zuby stood at the mouth of the ravine, at the edge of the enemy’s camp. A clump of blackthorn and squat trees shielded them from view.
They were joined by Fred and Frieda, who were doing their best to appear small – legs folded beneath them, bodies huddled to the ground. The velecours looked plumper and glossier than ever. They must have eaten well in the park.
And slotted into Marie’s hood was a golden hare. The hare’s nose stuck over the top of the fabric; her black-tipped ears pointed up.
Imogen peeped between the branches of a tree. ‘What do you see?’ whispered Marie.
‘I don’t know, it’s difficult—’ The tree parted its boughs. ‘Thank you,’ muttered Imogen. She was surprised that Ochi had kept her word. The trees were still being helpful.
Between twigs and thorns, Imogen saw Anneshka’s army. Flags shimmered in the morning light. There were rough tents on the outskirts, more luxurious-looking pavilions further in. They were crammed on the narrow stretch of land between marsh and mountains.
‘There are soldiers,’ whispered Imogen. ‘Lots of them …’
An eye appeared in the trunk next to Imogen’s head. Ochi was watching too.
Small fires were dotted across the site; lines of smoke connecting earth and sky. About thirty paces from Imogen’s hiding place, a group huddled round one such fire, talking and heating pots over the flames.
Most of the fighters were human, but Imogen could see a few skret in chainmail. King Ctibor must have lent them to his ‘daughter’s’ cause. Imogen saw soldiers from Yaroslav too; their red jackets stood out. There were many other uniforms she didn’t recognise.
‘They’ve got horses,’ she said, ‘and … something else.’ She didn’t know the names of the tall deer with antlers and shaggy coats. Anneshka must have amassed her army from far and wide.
Imogen pulled back from the trees. ‘I think we’d better go,’ she said.
Marie nodded, biting her lip. ‘How will we know if Anneshka is following?’
‘We won’t,’ said Imogen. ‘She doesn’t have any velecours so she’ll be much slower. We’ll just have to make sure she sees you and hope she takes the bait … rather than attacking Nedobyt.’
Imogen and Marie climbed on to Frieda, with Marie in front and Mum-the-hare still secured in her hood.
Zuby climbed on to Fred and the velecour twisted his neck. ‘Hello there,’ croaked Zuby.
Fred stared. He wasn’t used to such a well-clawed passenger.
‘Doesn’t feel natural,’ muttered Zuby. ‘Skret should have both feet on stone.’ Fred beat his wings and lifted his chest, and Zuby almost slid off. ‘Argh!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is worse than a horse!’
Imogen grabbed Frieda’s reins and the velecour swerved out of hiding. Stalking towards them was a small band of soldiers. They must have heard the girls talking. Their hands were on the hilts of their swords.
Uh-oh, thought Imogen. Now we’re in trouble.
Frieda ran as velecours do – fast, and in an unexpected direction. She bolted towards the soldiers and both girls screamed. The soldiers screamed too, scattering as the giant bird hurtled their way.
Frieda’s feet pounded on the ground. Mum’s ears flapped as Frieda ran, batting Imogen in the face.
‘Come on, Frieda,’ called Marie, as the velecour spread her wings.
Once again, Imogen could feel the bird’s powerful muscles straining.
Frieda took off before the first cluster of tents.
Imogen ignored the flip in her belly, wrapping the reins round her wrists. To her left, she could see Fred and Zuby, also flying. Below, was the tightly packed camp.
They flew over a fire and smoke blew in Imogen’s face. She shut her eyes, and when she opened them, every soldier seemed to be looking up.
‘It’s two girls and a skret,’ a voice shouted.
‘She’s the one Anneshka wants!’
Yes, that’s it, thought Imogen. Go and tell your mistress …
Below, more soldiers scrabbled out of their tents. Some drew swords, others reached for bows.
‘Faster, Frieda!’ urged Marie.
If they got shot, there would be no saving Mark – no saving themselves – and Imogen couldn’t bear to think of the velecours being injured.
An arrow whistled past Frieda’s wingtip, singing as it curved overhead, before diving down on the other side of the bird. Frieda squawked and beat her wings harder.
Now they were flying over the marshes, low and with great speed. Imogen glanced back and saw the full size of the encampment. There were thousands of tents and makeshift shelters, catapults, cooking stations and carriages. It was more like a town than a temporary base.
Arrows hissed through the air behind the sisters, but they were out of range. The missiles fell into the wetland below.
‘We did it!’ cried Marie, punching the air.
Imogen set her face to the wind and encouraged the velecour on.
‘Any sign of her?’ asked Marie, who couldn’t see back past Imogen.
Imogen glanced over her shoulder. No one was visible on the marshes. That wasn’t a surprise. It would take Anneshka several minutes to assemble a guard or ready her horse or whatever it was that she did. And, even then, she’d be much slower on horseback than they were in the air.
‘Anneshka is coming,’ muttered Imogen. ‘I’m sure of it. But we’ll be off the marshes before she gets close.’
Mum-the-hare placed her front paws on Marie’s shoulders and sniffed the air, whiskers twitching.
‘Zuby, can you feel the sertze?’ called Marie.
Perched on Fred, the skret’s cloak flapped from his neck. His head was hunched into his shoulders. His eyes bulged even more than they normally did. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It is faint though. We have some distance to go.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Imogen. ‘You take the lead.’ And she steered Frieda aside so Fred could go first.
Imogen had to work hard to keep Frieda low. The velecour wanted to soar with the clouds, where her broad wings were at their most effective.
But Zuby needed to be able to feel the Sertze Bahnoh and Imogen wanted to see the marsh. She hoped the tree stump was as big as Miro had described. He did occasionally exaggerate.
‘You’re doing well, Frieda,’ said Marie, giving the velecour a pat.
After they had been flying for a while, Imogen noticed that Marie had gone quiet and she was resting against Imogen’s chest. Leaning forwards a little, she saw that her sister was asleep.
Imogen decided not to wake her. With her arms around her, she would stop Marie slipping off. And having been up all night, it was a good idea to take a nap.
Mum-the-hare was safely nestled in Marie’s hood, her eyes slowly closing, long ears pressed flat against her back.
The warmth of the velecour, and the steady wingbeats, was incredibly soothing. Imogen had to work hard not to fall asleep herself.
She hadn’t stayed up this long since a sleepover at her friend’s house. And, even then, they had drifted off before the dawn.
Imogen bit her lip to keep herself conscious, and peered at the marshes below.
As before, she saw hundreds of grassy knolls poking above the surface. She also saw huge spiderwebs cloaking the reeds.
‘The sertze is getting stronger,’ said Zuby. ‘I suspect we are close.’
Imogen couldn’t help thinking of Mark … wondering if they were too late. The nightmare about the yedleek hadn’t left her imagination. But neither had the memories of Mark making campfires, of Mark and Mum holding hands, of Mark waking Imogen early so they could go and watch meteors.
Imogen had to find the Maiden’s Kiss lichen. She had to find the tree stump.
Zuby steered Fred lower and veered to the left.
Marie stirred as Frieda also flew down. ‘Where are we?’ she mumbled.
‘The heartbeat, I can feel it!’ called Zuby.
‘Over there,’ cried Imogen, pointing to a dark ring in the marsh. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said it was a hole.
She encouraged Frieda to descend further and the velecour dipped her wings, landing on a tuft of earth. Imogen and Marie scrambled off the bird. Mum sprang out of Marie’s hood.
And there was the ancient tree stump. It was taller and wider than a house. Steps had been carved into the edge and, on top, there was some kind of seat.
The stump’s bark was covered in crusts of lichen, sprouting mushrooms and velvet moss. Finding the right lichen would take some time.
Zuby splashed closer to the tree stump and crouched in the water at its base. Then, he stuck his head under, bottom up.
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Marie.
The skret surfaced, gasping. ‘The Sertze Bahnoh! It’s under the stump!’
Imogen waded to Zuby’s side, water rushing into her boots. She put her palms on the tree stump. And there, beneath the shivering breeze and the shake-shake of the tall grasses, beneath the warbling birds, she could feel a steady beat.
It was as if the stump had a pulse, but Imogen knew that wasn’t quite right. The rhythm came from the Sertze Bahnoh, the heart of Mokzhadee.
‘The tree must have grown on top of the sertze,’ said Zuby. He patted the trunk. ‘Perhaps that’s why this stump survives. Either way, the sertze keeps this land so healthy, so –’ he breathed in through his nose – ‘full of life. Can you smell it?’
Imogen took a tentative sniff. She could smell rotting things and bird poo. ‘Kind of,’ she said, wondering if that was what Zuby meant.
Her eyes wandered back to the horizon. She couldn’t help checking for Anneshka. And, this time, she saw something – a dark dot. It was hard to tell if it was coming closer.
It can’t be Anneshka, thought Imogen. Not yet …
Mum-the-hare had climbed the steps and was standing on top of the stump. She rose on to her back legs, like a meerkat. ‘What is it, Mum?’ asked Marie.
The hare twitched her whiskers before letting out a high-pitched whistle.
Imogen had never heard Mum make that sound, but she knew it was a warning – the kind of noise one hare makes to another when a hawk is approaching their nest.
‘Shall we find that lichen?’ said Imogen, fear tightening her throat.
‘Quite right,’ said Zuby, ‘quite right.’ But he didn’t move to help. He just stood, marvelling at the tree stump and the stone buried beneath.
The sisters shuffled around the stump, moving in opposite directions, and Imogen thought back to the yedleek book. The illustration had shown a yolk-yellow lichen, thick, with wavy edges. That was what she needed to spot.
Imogen’s eyes scanned the bark. In some places, it was slimy. In others, it was cracked like scales. Most of it was hidden by things growing.
The lichen was so colourful; acid orange and mint green. The mushrooms were unusual too. Some were candyfloss pink and frilly, with white gills underneath. Many of them grew in layers, and Imogen thought they looked like a mini version of Nedobyt, clinging to the stump.
