“But you do not think so,” Jarred finished for him, looking sadly at Min’s still, pale face. “You think she was killed because of what she knew.”
“Yes,” said Endon in a low voice. “And my wife thinks it, too.”
Jarred glanced at him. “You are married, then,” he said. “I, too.”
Endon half smiled. “That is good,” he murmured politely. “I hope that you are as happy in your marriage as I am in mine. My wife, the queen, is called Sharn. We had never spoken to each other before our wedding day, as is the Rule, but she grows more dear to me with every year that passes. Our first child will be born at summer’s end.”
“And ours in the early autumn,” said Jarred.
There was a moment’s silence as each of them thought of the changes that seven years had brought. Then Endon looked straight into Jarred’s eyes. “It is good to see you again, my friend,” he said softly. “I have been cruelly punished for believing that you could betray me. I have missed you sorely.”
And suddenly all the strangeness between them melted away. Jarred thrust out his hand and clasped Endon’s warmly. “Friends to the death we were as boys, and friends to the death we will always be,” he said. “You must have always known this in your heart, Endon, because you sent for me when trouble came. I wish only that the summons had been sooner. I fear we have little time.”
“Then Min was right,” Endon whispered. “There is evil here.”
“There has been evil here for a long time,” said Jarred. “And now —”
Both of them swung around, their hands on their swords, as they heard the door behind them click open.
“Endon, it is past dawn,” a voice called softly.
“Sharn!” exclaimed Endon. He ran to meet the pretty young woman who was slipping into the chapel. She was as richly robed as he, and her glossy hair was twisted high on her head. There were deep shadows under her eyes as if she had kept watch all night.
She gasped and shrank back as she saw Jarred.
“Do not be afraid, Sharn,” Endon said gently. “It is only Jarred.”
“Jarred! You came!” she exclaimed, her tired face breaking into a relieved smile.
“I did,” nodded Jarred. “And I will do what I can to help you fight the trouble that has come to our land. But we must act quickly. We must go at once to the tower, so that Endon can reclaim the Belt of Deltora.”
Endon stared at him, white-faced. “Jarred, I — I cannot,” he stammered. “The Rule —”
“Forget the Rule, Endon!” Jarred hissed, striding towards the door. “I told you this once and you would not listen to me. Do not make the mistake a second time. The Belt is Deltora’s only protection. The people depend upon you to guard it. And I think that it is in danger. Grave danger.”
As Endon stood motionless, still hesitating, Sharn put her arm through his. “You are the king, Endon,” she said quietly. “Your duty to Deltora is far greater than your duty to obey the Rule. Let us go together to the tower.”
And, at last, Endon nodded. “Very well,” he said. “We will go. Together.”
They ran up the great stairs — past the first floor, the second, the third, and on towards the tower room. They took care to move quietly, but they saw no one. It was still very early, and though the cooks had begun to move around in the kitchens downstairs, few others in the palace were stirring.
By the time they reached the last flight of stairs, Jarred had begun to think that all was going to be well. He climbed eagerly, with Endon and Sharn close behind him. He reached the top — then stopped abruptly.
The tower room door was gaping open, its three gold locks broken. On the floor outside, the three guards lay dead where they had fallen, their swords still clutched in their hands.
Jarred heard a sobbing gasp behind him. Then Endon ran past him into the tower room. There was a single, anguished cry. Then silence.
Jarred’s heart seemed to turn over in his chest. Slowly he and Sharn followed the king.
The small, round room was very still and a foul smell hung in the air. The sky outside the open windows was filled with angry red light as the newly risen sun glared through a smothering blanket of cloud. The glass case that sheltered the Belt of Deltora had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
Endon was on his knees among the glittering fragments. The Belt — or what remained of it — lay on the floor in front of him. He picked it up. It hung limply between his hands — a tangled, useless chain of grey steel. Its medallions were torn and twisted. The seven gems were gone.
With a cry, Sharn hurried to her husband’s side, gently helping him to rise. He stood, swaying, the empty, ruined Belt clutched in his hands.
Dull despair settled over Jarred. What he had feared had come to pass. The enemy had triumphed.
There was a low, mocking laugh behind him. Prandine was standing in the doorway. In his long black robe he looked as tall and bony as ever, but it was as if a mask had fallen from his face. The grave, serious expression had gone. Now, greed and triumph lit his eyes and cruelty twisted his thin mouth.
“So, Jarred, you have risen from the dead to try to interfere once more,” he snarled. “But you are too late. Soon, very soon, Deltora will bow beneath my Lord’s shadow.”
Wild anger surged through Jarred. He lunged forward, his sword aimed at Prandine’s heart. In an instant, the sword burned white hot. He dropped it with a cry of agony, his hand seared and blistered.
“You were a fool to come here,” spat Prandine. “If you had not, I would have gone on believing you safely dead. Now you are doomed, like your idiot king, his little painted doll bride, and the brat she carries.”
From his robe he drew a long, thin dagger, its wicked tip glowing sickly green.
Jarred backed away from him, fighting back the pain from his injured hand, trying desperately to think. He had no wish to die, but he knew that at all costs he must save Endon, Sharn, and their unborn child, the heir to the throne of Deltora.
“We are too many for you, Prandine,” he said loudly. “While you struggle with one, the others can escape.” He wondered if Prandine would realize that this was not just a challenge to him, but a message for Endon. While I distract him, take Sharn and run!
But Prandine was laughing again, kicking the door shut behind him. “There will be no struggle,” he jeered, moving forward. “The poison on this blade is deadly. One tiny scratch and the end comes quickly. As it did for your mother and father, King Endon.”
“Murderer! Traitor!” breathed Endon, pushing Sharn behind him. “You have betrayed your king, and your land.”
“This is not my land,” sneered Prandine. “My loyalty, like the loyalty of the chief advisors before me, has always been to another place and to a far greater master.”
He looked at Endon with contempt. “You are the last in a line of royal buffoons, King Endon. Little by little we robbed your family of power until you were nothing but puppets moving as we pulled the strings. And then, at last, the time was right to take your last protection from you.”
He pointed a bony finger at the tangled chain in Endon’s hands. “Finally, the blacksmith Adin’s accursed work has been undone. The Belt of Deltora is no more.”
“The gems cannot be destroyed,” Endon said through pale lips. “And it is death to take them beyond Deltora’s borders.”
Prandine smiled cruelly. “The gems have been scattered far and wide, hidden where no one would dare to find them. And when you and your unborn brat are dead, finding them would be no use in any case.”
The room darkened and thunder growled outside the tower. Prandine’s eyes glowed with triumph. “The Shadow Lord comes,” he hissed.