But the shadows were closing in. Lief could not stop them. They moved faster, faster … And at last all was darkness.
When Lief woke, he was lying in his old palace bed chamber. A feather quilt covered him. There was a soft pillow beneath his head. The faint scents of soap, clean linen and healing herbs drifted in the air. Sunlight was streaming through the barred window, turning the swirling dust motes into flecks of gold.
For a moment he was still, his mind lost in a pleasant haze. Then memory came flooding back and instantly every nerve in his body was jangling.
He sat up abruptly, drawing a sharp breath as pain shot through him. He looked down and saw that the torn, blood-soaked Toran robe was gone, and he was wearing a crisp white nightshirt. At the same moment he realised that while he had been unconscious someone had bathed his wounds, bandaged the worst of them and smeared the rest with healing balm.
With a jolt of panic he felt for the Belt of Deltora. But it was there, around his waist, gleaming against the white of the nightshirt.
He looked around the familiar room. His sword lay in a corner near the bed. Beside the sword was the pack he had left in Tora.
Who had brought it from Tora? How long had he been lying here unconscious? Half a day? More?
Suddenly the silence in the room was no longer peaceful, but ominous.
Lief thought of his mother. He thought of Jasmine and Barda, bleeding on the palace steps. He thought of Josef, his face disfigured by scarlet weals, and Paff, her eyes rolled back in her head …
In terror he glanced down at his hands and in shamed relief saw that no red lumps marked the skin.
The Toran Plague had not touched him. Or—not yet.
Painfully he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The room seemed to spin around him, and he grasped the edge of the bedside cabinet for support. He fumbled his way to his pack, found his clothes and began to pull them on.
His heart lurched as he heard the click of a lock and saw the door handle turn. Without quite knowing why, he seized his sword and stood with his back to the wall, waiting.
5 - A Sad Reunion
The door opened and Doom came silently into the room. He froze when he saw that the bed was empty. Slowly he turned his head till he saw Lief standing in the corner, sword in hand. The corner of his mouth tightened.
‘So you have become cautious at last, Lief,’ he said. ‘Better late than never.’
Lief grinned shakily and threw down his sword.
‘Doom,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I am very glad to see you.’
Doom stood where he was. ‘I am sure you will understand if I say that I am not glad to see you,’ he answered coldly. ‘Did I not tell you to stay away from here?’
Lief fought down a flare of anger. ‘You also told me to continue my quest,’ he snapped, letting his rejected hand fall. ‘Whether you wished me to see my dying mother or not, I had to come to Del. The Sister of the South is here.’
With bitter satisfaction he watched Doom’s face change. Then he saw his old friend’s shoulders slump, and felt ashamed.
‘Forgive me,’ he said quickly, holding out his hand again. ‘You could not have known. And no doubt I would have come even if the Sister were not in Del.’
This time Doom moved forward, and took the outstretched hand in both of his.
‘No doubt you would, Lief,’ he said. ‘Your heart has often ruled your head. It is one of the many things that make you a better king than I could ever be, for all your youth.’
As if fearing he had shown his feelings too plainly, he cleared his throat and abruptly released Lief’s hand.
‘Barda and Jasmine are still sleeping,’ he said, in something far more like his normal tone. ‘According to Gla-Thon it is a miracle that you are all still alive. Dragons can be deadly allies, it seems.’
Without waiting for an answer, he held out a piece of red cloth like the one loosely knotted around his own neck.
‘I know there is no hope of persuading you to keep away from Sharn, however much I might wish to,’ he said. ‘Tie this mask around your face. It will give you some protection from the infection.’
‘Before I see Mother, I must go to Josef,’ Lief said hurriedly.
Doom stared at him in angry astonishment. ‘You must do as you please, Lief,’ he said curtly. ‘But if you wish to see Sharn alive, there is no time to waste.’
Fear swept through Lief like a cold wind, driving everything else from his mind, chilling him to the bone.
Minutes later, Lief was standing by his mother’s bed, his breath coming hard and fast beneath the stifling cloth mask that covered his mouth and nose.
‘Do not venture too close,’ warned Doom, who had remained by the door. ‘And do not touch her.’
Angry-looking scarlet lumps covered Sharn’s face and neck. Her brow was beaded with sweat. Her lips were dry and cracked. Dark grey shadows smudged the skin beneath her eyes. Her breathing was very faint.
Lief’s throat tightened. ‘How long has she been like this?’ he managed to say.
‘This is the third day,’ Doom answered. ‘She reached Del at sunset, three nights ago, bearing the glad tidings that you had been found safe and well, and were travelling on to find the Sister of the South. A troop of guards escorted her to the palace. She spoke to every one of them … as is her way.’
He paused, then continued in the same level tone.
‘Her belongings were brought here, but she remained below, though she was tired and windswept from her journey. She greeted the crowds of the hungry gathered in the entrance hall and with her own hands served the soup that had been prepared for them. Afterwards she went to visit the stables, then she and I ate in the kitchen with the cooks. At last she admitted to weariness, and went directly to bed.’
Again he paused. Lief waited, his eyes fixed on his mother’s face.
‘By morning she was burning with fever and the red weals were already showing on her face,’ Doom went on after a moment. ‘The guards who had escorted her to the palace, many of the people she had served, the horse-master who greeted her in the stables and the cooks who sat with us at table, were in the same state. Most of them died the same day. Then those close to them began to fall ill. And so it went on.’
‘How many are dead?’ Lief forced himself to ask.
Wearily, Doom rubbed his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Many hundreds,’ he said. ‘I have lost count over the past days. I have given orders that the dead are to be burned. The citizens have all been told to cover their faces in the streets, and while nursing the sick. But still the deaths continue.’
He sighed. ‘The only thing I seem to have achieved is to stop the plague spreading beyond Del. No-one is permitted to leave the city. That is why Gla-Thon is with us. A Kin carried her from Dread Mountain, to bring me news of you. The Kin returned at once, but Gla-Thon remained, and she was still here when the plague broke out. Gers the Jalis and Steven were trapped in the same way.’
‘Gers and Steven?’ Lief repeated stupidly.
‘Gers came asking for food for his people,’ Doom said. ‘Steven arrived a week ago, with the boy Zerry. They told me of your journey to Shadowgate, and your encounters with the Masked Ones, and Laughing Jack.’
Lief nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.
‘To me the Masked Ones were just one of Deltora’s many curiosities,’ Doom went on sombrely. ‘I have never known their history, or cared to find it out. I was astonished when Steven told me that the troop was founded by Ballum, the younger brother of King Elstred.’
He saw Lief’s eyes widen, and nodded.
‘Did Steven not tell you?’ he said. ‘You share a bloodline with the traditional leaders of the Masked Ones, Lief. No doubt that is why Bess saw a resemblance between you and her son. Steven told me that Ballum was a magician and juggler—much loved by the people, and by his brother, the king. Then a trick went wrong and Ballum’s face was badly marked by fire.’