The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(63)

“What does that mean?” Jackaby pressed. “Make ready his warriors to travel it?”

“None of your concern, human.”

“Buh the Dire Kigg warned againtht a Kiggdom of Blood in hith poem,” I managed. “That doethn’t make thenth.”

We had reached the front of the line. At the head of the gruesome ranks stood two men. One was covered with thick, coarse hair and had sharp teeth. He was the man Morwen had called Mr. Loup. The other had white-blond hair. He had the sharp features of a fairy. In fact, he looked as if he could have been Virgule’s brother, except that there was something eerie about him. His eyes were too cold.

“Where is the king?” the troll on the left demanded. “We’ve caught the Seer.”

“The oni caught the Seer,” corrected right. “But we were nearby.”

Loup glared at them. “Quiet. It’s starting,” he said. His eyes wandered to Jackaby and to me.

“Starting?” Jackaby said.

I nudged him and nodded up at the keep. Through the spinning wreckage, a figure was ascending the tower. He climbed unhurried from one stair to the next, purposeful with each step, mounting stairs that floated in midair. Around his shoulders was draped a dark cloak and on his head was the wicked black crown.

“Hold on. That’s the Seer!” Loup cried.

“That’s what I said,” protested the lead troll.

“The king has use for him,” snarled Loup. “I’ll take him from here.”

“No!” I said. “Er—I capthured him. It’th my—erm—glory to prethent him to the Dire King, Lord of Chaoths.” Loup leaned in closer to me. His nostrils twitched and he inhaled deeply as he looked at me. “Bringer of Dethruction?” I added. It was then that I realized the ache in my jaw was subsiding. The Denti-whatever was wearing off. My teeth were receding back into my mouth. I swallowed.

Loup’s eyes narrowed. “You’re no oni,” he said. “What are you?”

“Oh. I don’t think you can say that. It’s offensive,” the troll on the right said.

Loup looked as if he would like to have taken the troll’s head off, but at that moment the massive gates of Hafgan’s Hold shook with a thunderous blow.

Loup’s eyes turned to the gate. “They’re here,” he said. He smiled wickedly, his teeth glistening. “To your places!” he bellowed. “It’s happening!”

There was a scurry of movement as the phalanx of monsters braced themselves for battle. Swords and axes were drawn; claws scraped and glinted. The gate rocked with another echoing crack.

“Hold him until after,” Loup snarled at me. “Time for my moment.”

I blinked. We were in the center of the army. Monsters were rushing around us on every side, and none of them seemed concerned about us in the least.

Loup ran toward the tower. High above him, the metal dome over the roof of the keep was moving, tilting up like the lid on a sugar dish. Below it, the constantly moving flower of rotating discs was glowing brighter. It rose, aligning itself within the dome of the roof. The flower became brighter still as the curve of the metal reflected its golden light.

Just below the glowing machine, I could now clearly see the third-story landing. On one side, there was a seven-foot platform propped up at a forty-five-degree angle, and just above this was a stage bordered by a wall of switches and knobs with countless cables and tubes running up and down from the controls. At this control board stood the Dire King, his back to us as he threw levers and flipped toggles.

On the next landing down hung the cylinder device we had seen when we snuck in. Lights along this giant cylinder were now blinking to life.

Finally, down at the base of the tower, the generators were humming. Loup had reached the keep and stepped inside. Through the ruined masonry, I could see him walk across the floor to stand beneath one of the coffin-like metal frames.

The two other frames were already occupied—one by an imp, who danced back and forth on the balls of his little red feet, and the other by a woman who stood stock-still within her arched metal cage. She had wide, angry eyes and wings like an owl’s that wrapped around her shoulders. Above their heads hung the lightning rod nozzles.

Out in the courtyard, the gate cracked loudly again, and this time I heard the wood splinter. The gate burst. A sea of fair folk swept into the courtyard, and there, at the front of the line, was Virgule. My heart lurched in my chest. He had done it! Arawn had listened! Something had finally gone right!

The Unseelie horde did not set upon the intruders at once.

For a tense moment, the two forces faced each other across the turf. The fairies filed in, forming clean, clear ranks with practiced precision. Virgule stepped forward. “Hear me!” he yelled. A few Unseelie growled. “In the name of the Fair King, you are ordered to stand down,” he declared.

The creepy blond man laughed, pulling on a pair of dark gloves as he strode down the center of the Unseelie army. “You really think you can stop us with Lord Arawn’s second-best battalion?” he drawled.

Virgule locked eyes on the man and stammered. “You—we—” He took a breath and recovered. “It’s over, Mr. Tilde. There is no need for further bloodshed. My Lord Arawn has sent for the dwarves from the South Mines and the elves from the North. Even if you stand against us, by now the whole of the Annwyn are riding to put an end to this madness. What you’ve done threatens us all. You’ve lost.”