Free Deltora Quest #8: Return to Deltora by Emily Rodda Page A

the light of the torches. As Lief watched, he slowly raised his head. His eyes opened and widened in terror.
    There was a heavy, panting sound behind Lief, and a rough movement. “No!” Steven’s voice rasped. “Nevets! Not while the Guards are close to Dain. They have daggers, blisters … They will kill him at once, if you strike now. Wait, I beg you!”
    There was a moment of struggle. Then the panting eased. The movement stopped.
    “Awake at last, your majesty?” Bak 1 was sneering. “That’s good.” He beckoned, and his fellows began toiling up towards him, their arms full of dead branches. As they dumped the wood around Dain’s feet, piling it high, Bak 6 sprinkled it with oil.
    “This’ll keep him nice and warm,” he sniggered. Then he looked up, squinting into the torchlight. “The others are coming with the prisoners,” he said. “Party can start anytime. Someone had better get Fallow. Bak 3 — you go.”
    “He won’t come,” whined Bak 3. “Ever since he heard that story about the three being sighted in the west, he’s stopped worrying. He’s locked in that room with his green light. You can see it under the door. And you know he —”
    “He’ll come for this,” growled Bak 1. “There’ll be trouble if he misses it. Go on!”
    As Bak 3 grumbled away, there were shuffling, clinking sounds from the side of the square nearest the city gates. The next moment, a group of stumbling figures came into view. Some were being dragged by Guards, other were walking alone, their legs weighed down with heavy chains.
    Lief searched the faces. There was Gla-Thon, her hair sleek, wet with blood, her left arm hanging uselessly by her side. Manus, shivering with fear, came next. Behind him, Fardeep and Nanion supported Zeean, who hung limply between them. And, dragged on his bellybehind the last of the Guards, his body thumping over the cobbles, wrists bleeding freely as the straining chains bit deeply into his flesh was … Glock.
    Only one person was missing.
    “So now we know,” muttered Barda.
    Steven’s great body had begun to tremble all over. Lief glanced at him fearfully.
    The huge man’s eyes were fixed on Dain. They were changing from yellow to brown, brown to yellow. His mouth was twitching, his flesh quivering, as he fought Nevets for control. “When I give the word, Lief must run to the boy,” he growled thickly. “You others — guard Lief as best you can. We will do the rest. But keep away from us. Keep away!”
    Lief tore his eyes from the terrible, writhing face, looked around again. Only Bak 1 and Bak 6 stood beside Dain, now. But both still had their daggers drawn.
    Lief’s fingers felt numb as he reached for Dain’s dagger. If he managed to reach Dain alive, he would use the dagger to cut the ropes. That would be fitting. That would be …
    But the dagger had gone. Lief looked down, blinking stupidly. The dagger must have fallen from his belt, unnoticed. Probably when he was climbing into the caravan on the road to Del.
    A lump rose in his throat. Somehow this small loss seemed a symbol of his great failure. He had thought of himself as his king’s protector. What folly!
    He glanced at Jasmine, rigid beside him. Her eyes were narrow and intent. Her lips were firm. Behind her, Barda towered. He had drawn his sword. His face still showed signs of his illness, but his brow was furrowed with determination.
    Lief shook himself. This was no time for weakness. He turned back to face the pyramid and drew his own sword. The sword his father had made for him. That, too, could cut ropes. Could free his king. That, too, was fitting.
    Bak 1 grinned cruelly as the chained group came to a stop in front of the platform. “You’ve got a rare treat in store,” he snarled. “You’re to witness a great event, before you die.”
    He looked down, annoyed, as Bak 3 hurried into his view. “Where’s Fallow?” he snarled.
    Bak 3 shook his head. “He wouldn’t answer the door!” he panted.