The Lost Realm by J. D. Rinehart Page B

understand.”
    â€œOh, it’s very simple, Princess . Your friend’s coming with us. I can’t wait to see what Lord Vicerin will make of him. Can you?”

CHAPTER 6
    T he wings of the three giant thorrods beat a steady, silent tattoo against the air, driving Tarlan and Melchior on toward the coast. Below them the dense Isurian forest was a tangled green carpet. Above hung a faint smear of light: the comet.
    â€œYou can see it in the day now!” Tarlan shouted across the expanse of air between the flying birds.
    â€œIt grows brighter as it comes closer,” the wizard called back, “and will grow much brighter yet.”
    Mirith had told Tarlan about the stones that occasionally fell from the sky, blazing hot. He’d sometimes watched their white trails in the night but had never actually seen one come to ground.
    Is that all the comet is? he wondered. Just a big stone?
    But it was more than that, he knew. The comet was somehow wrapped up with Melchior’s powers. It was strange. Perhaps the comet wasn’t glowing with light at all. Perhaps it was glowing with magic.
    As evening cast a blue shroud over the trees, Tarlan guided the thorrods down toward a stand of ancient oak trees.
    â€œLand by that stream,” he said to them. “The water should be fresh and the trees will be good cover.” He grinned across at Filos and Greythorn, nestled together on Kitheen’s black back. “As for you two—I bet you can’t wait to stretch your legs!”
    Tarlan was right. The instant the thorrods touched down, the wolf and the tigron cub leaped from Kitheen’s back and bounded off into the trees, ears pricked, nostrils flaring.
    â€œGood hunting!” Tarlan laughed.
    The three thorrods dug a shallow scrape near the tree line and flopped into it, clearly exhausted. Tarlan went to each of the huge birds in turn, stroking their beaks and smoothing their feathers.
    â€œGreythorn and Filos will bring you fresh meat. Try to stay awake until they get back. Melchior, do you want to fetch the firewood, or shall I?”
    But when he turned around, the wizard was hurrying away from the clearing, making his way over the stream. His grubby yellow robe was bunched up under his armpits, exposing scrawny white legs. For an instant Tarlan thought he was walking on water. Then he saw the stepping-stones lying just beneath the surface.
    â€œWhere are you going?” he called.
    â€œI saw a village. There will be an inn.”
    After spending a whole day flying through the fresh, uncluttered air of Toronia, Tarlan felt cleansed. The last thing he wanted was to throw himself back into a crowd of noisy, smelly humans. He gazed around the little clearing.
    â€œIt’s nice here,” he said wistfully.
    â€œYes, but we are not just travelers, Tarlan.”
    â€œWe’re not?”
    â€œNo, we are here to learn.”
    â€œWe are?” Tarlan’s heart was sinking.
    â€œOf course! How can we solve the many problems which undoubtedly lie ahead if we are not fully informed about them? Besides, you will one day be king, Tarlan. There is no better place for you than among your people!”
    Grumbling under his breath, Tarlan picked his way across the stream and followed Melchior into the trees on the other side.
    Do you know how annoying you are, old man?
    Ten paces ahead, the wizard chuckled to himself. Tarlan’s skin prickled as he considered the possibility that Melchior could read his thoughts.
    The village was tiny and, like most human settlements, looked odd to Tarlan’s eyes. Having grown up in a cave high on a cold Yalasti mountain, he’d never really understood people’s compulsion to cut up natural materials and turn them into walls and roofs.
    The buildings were simple wooden lodges. Rough streets meandered between them, little more than packed earth, with torches burning at intervals along them. At the end of a straggling row of small,