by Peter Fane
“True,” Doldon said. “But can we risk not taking full advantage of what he might be capable of?” He looked from Michael to Garen to Kate. Garen inclined his head, but it didn’t look like he was full agreement, either.
“The point is moot,” Michael said. “We will take advantage. He’ll go up with the adepts and squires as a helper, as Master Falmon suggested. He’ll stay close. Doldon and Falmon will be there with him. We’ll brief our war adepts as to his potential. When battle commences—.”
“If battle commences,” Kyla interrupted him. “Isn’t that what you mean, Michael? If?”
“Of course.” Michael smiled. “If battle commences, Falmon and Doldon will move him into alignment with our adepts, as they see fit.” He glanced at Anna. “We will, of course, rely on our traditional forces, should something occur. We’ll neither expect nor depend on anything else. If Daniel’s ability manifests, then we’ll stand ready to use him.”
Kyla began to say something else, but a knock on the chamber door interrupted her.
“Come,” Michael said.
Colj’s great ogre, Doj, opened the door. A Davanórian dragon rider entered and moved toward the table, saluting when she arrived. “My Lords. The last flights are ready to come through.” She turned to Anna and Zar. “Captain Dyer, Master Zar, your presence has been requested.”
“Very good,” Michael said. “We were just wrapping up.” He stood and carried Dan to the far side of the room, blowing out lanterns and lamps as he passed.
Anna and Zar bowed and departed with the dragon rider. Kyla watched Michael get Dan comfortable on a settee beneath the far window, tucking a cushion beneath his head.
Kyla turned to Ness. “I have some questions for you, Master.”
“As do I,” Kate added
Ness bowed. “I thought you might, my Ladies. I am at your disposal, of course—but my knowledge is limited, I am afraid.”
“What happened to Julia’s savant?” Kyla asked. “When the battle was done, what happened to him?”
“My question, exactly.” Kate nodded.
Michael returned. Everyone looked to Ness, waiting for his response.
“All accounts agree.” Ness looked at her. “Julia’s savant died on the war field. Killed by the effort.”
Kyla shot a look at Michael.
Michael returned her gaze emotionlessly. “Such is the life of a warrior.”
“He’s not a warrior,” Kyla said.
Michael’s gaze was dark. “He will be tomorrow.”
Kyla glanced at the others. Falmon and Kate looked concerned, but they wouldn’t challenge him. Garen made notes in one of his books, showing what he wrote to Ness. Colj looked on, a pensive look on his huge ogre face. Doldon poured himself a glass of wine; he would be no help. And what argument could she herself make? Kyla knew what they faced. She knew what was required and she understood the necessity. But still, something seemed wrong.
“We can’t hurt him—or others—needlessly, Michael,” she heard herself say. “We can’t bring suffering without cause.”
“Agreed.” Michael nodded.
But when she looked into his eyes, she felt a sudden pang of fear.
Michael continued. “Let me share with you something the High King once told me and your dad, when we were little, Ky: ‘A great leader,’ he said, ‘needs not be a person who does great things; a great leader needs to be a person who stirs her people to do great things.’ And sometimes, Ky, great things are terrible things. Yet they must be done.”
“I know.” Kyla held her hands close in front of her.
“Then why do we debate?”
She sighed. “This isn’t a debate, Michael. I know I can’t convince you. I’m not sure I want to, either. I understand what compels this thrice-cursed war. But I must speak the truth, as I see it. Would Grandpa and Nana—the High King and Queen—would they take this risk, when so little is known? And if the power Daniel holds is as great as they say—.” She gestured at Garen and Ness. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t risk it at all.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Michael said. “But I must finish this. We must finish this—.”
Kyla shook her head. “But it won’t be ‘us,’ Michael. It will be a little boy—a simple, good, little boy. He won’t know what he’s doing.”
Michael looked over at Daniel, his eyes eternally dark. “Such is the nature of war.”
22
WHEN DAN OPENED his eyes, he was laying on a soft couch with a pillow under his head. He was in the same big room, but most of the lamps and lanterns were out. Lord Michael, Lord Garen, Captain Colj, Master Falmon, Lady Kyla, Lady Katherine, and Master Ness were all over there, talking softly around the big table. Master Zar, his little dragon, and Captain Dyer had left. Lord Doldon was walking to the table from the door.
Dan didn’t feel too tired anymore, so he swung his legs off the couch, slid down, and walked over, knees wobbly, then bowed and saluted when they turned and looked at him. Lord Michael picked Dan up, set him on the table’s edge. He lifted Dan’s chin, brushed his hair away from his face, and looked into his eyes. Dan bowed and saluted but didn’t say anything because looking into Lord Michael’s dark eyes made him dizzy.
“How are you feeling, Daniel?” Lord Michael asked.
Dan nodded a couple of times, blinked, then saluted. His fist had never felt so heavy. “Good, sir.” He cleared his throat. He was real thirsty. “Ready to work, sir,” he croaked.
Lady Kyla poured water into a cup and handed it to him. Dan took it with both hands, drank, and it was so good. Best water he’d ever tasted.
“Easy, Daniel.” Lady Kyla took the cup from him. “Not all at once.” She handed the cup to Lady Katherine.
Dan wiped his mouth and nodded. “So good! That’s darn good water, right there!”
Lady Kyla smiled at him. Lady Katherine smiled at him, too.
Lord Michael put his hand on Dan’s shoulder, made like he was going to say something, but then he just squeezed gently and looked up at Lord Garen. “Should he stay up here with us?”
Dan didn’t know what that meant, but Lord Garen frowned, took off his silver spectacles, polished them on his vest, then looked at Captain Colj, Master Ness, Lord Doldon, and Master Falmon. Master Ness shook his head. Master Falmon said, “I’d recommend not, my Lord. Let’s send him back down. As if nothing’s happened.”
Lord Michael nodded. Captain Colj listened, paused for a long moment, then he nodded, too.
Lady Kyla gave Dan the cup again, and he drank. Water dribbled down his chin. Lady Katherine dabbed it with a napkin.
“That’s so good!” Dan nodded, looking into the cup. The ladies smiled. “For truth!”
Master Ness ticked his crooked stick against the floor. “We know they have one or two agents inside, my Lord. One or two, at least. They’ll be waiting for something like this.” Master Ness tilted his head in Dan’s direction. “He was brought up to clean something. That was the pretense. So, he cleaned it—and now he’s done with his work and he’s going back down to bed. A little late, but nothing remarkable. He came, he did his work, and now he’s going back. Nothing out of the ordinary—that’s how it must appear.”
“Routine,” Lord Doldon nodded.
“Agreed,” Lord Garen said. Everyone else was nodding, too. Captain Colj looked at Dan for a long moment, then nodded.
“Is the threat that serious?” Lady Kyla asked.
Master Ness looked at her, ticked his walking stick, then shrugged.
Dan didn’t understand what any of this was about, so he kept his mouth shut like a good soldier should. But he did understand what “back down to bed” meant, of course. And he was ready for that part. He was dog bones tired.
“Very well,” Lord Michael said. “We’ll return him to his place. He will go out tomorrow as we discussed. A simple squire’s helper. Our adepts will tend him. We’ll bring him up later, depending on tomorrow’s action.”
Everyone nodded.
/> Lord Michael looked at Dan for a moment, then glanced at Master Falmon. “You’ll see to it?”
“Of course, my Lord,” Master Falmon said. Then he turned to Dan. “You ready for bed, Dan?”
“Great Sisters, yes!” Dan nodded and gave a loud burp because he’d drank so much water. “Ready, Master Falmon, sir! Always ready for rack time, sir!”
“Big Dan.” Lord Doldon laughed and patted Dan’s shoulder. “My kind of soldier.”
THE THIRD DAY
23
DEEP ASLEEP, LITTLE Dan dreamed.
He saw a workshop. A workshop filled with little boys and girls and silver machines. It reminded Dan of that place where they made the swords and axes and armor. He couldn’t remember what that place was called, but this place had the same kind of clumping and banging and loud noises.
But it was different, too.
They didn’t make swords or axes or armor down here.
No, sir.
They made something else.
Those silver machines thumped and clanked, opened and shut, opened and shut. Big silver cogs turned on long silver tubes. Clunk-whump. Clunk-whump. Clunk-whump. The machines smelled like lightning. Silver steam hissed from silver holes. The pipes, the gears, the floors, the walls, the machines, all glowed the same silver glow. Like Stormy, Dan realized. That same silver light.
The little boys and girls worked at the machines. They wore silver cloth on their feet and walked with tiny steps. They were all Dan’s age, but some looked even younger. They had silver mittens on their hands and silver bands over their hair. Silver cloths covered up their mouths. Dan nodded. He understood. The silver cloth protected the work.
The work must be protected, someone whispered behind him.
Dan turned.
But there wasn’t anybody there.
A little boy placed something in his machine and pulled a silver lever. The machine clumped shut. When it opened, a silver tear sat in the machine. The tear was hot, silvery-white, and perfectly smooth, about the size of the little boy’s fist. The boy took the tear from the machine and turned to Dan. He held the tear up with both his little hands. Inside that tear, Dan heard a song. It was like Stormy’s, but different. Older and slower and way stronger, too.
Dan listened and for a moment he imagined something else under the music, something hidden and dark. Like a secret. A big secret.
We can’t hide forever, the whisper came.
“Hide what?” Dan asked. “Is this a game?”
The little boy jumped at his voice and dropped the tear, and it broke on the floor. From the pieces, a black thing like a black bug hissed. Its hands were hooks, like little knives ticking the floor as it clicked out of the shards and scuttled toward the drain, dropping down into the dark.
Somewhere below, a big door banged open, and a sound echoed up. It was the sound of big hooves pounding on an old road, of deep monsters who worked down in the deeper places. That thing in the tear had set them loose.
The door crashed open, and a pack of monsters ran into the workshop. They were wearing black robes. Oily black slime dripped everywhere. Their hands were bird claws. But the worst was their faces: They were like eggs. Grey eggs. Smooth, toothless mouths opening. They didn’t have eyes.
A monster grabbed Dan, drove a knife into his heart, and dropped him dead to the floor.
But Dan didn’t die.
It didn’t even hurt.
Not a bit.
Dan looked down at the wound and saw silvery liquid coming up out of his chest.
But still, he didn’t die.
All around him, the monsters killed. They held the little boys and girls down, ripped the cloths from their faces, and cut their throats, their legs, their arms. Bad games! Bad!
But there wasn’t any blood.
All the kids were just like Dan, and silver came out of them when the monsters hacked and stabbed and howled. There was another sound, too—a low cry. The voices of the little boys and girls. The voices came together, became one voice. More of those bright tears shattered. More of those weird black things crawled down into the dark. More hooves came up from below. More monster egg-heads crashing through doors, those weird mouths with no teeth. And the bad games kept going on and on . . . .
The promise must be kept.
Another tear shattered to the floor.
But this time, a black crow flew from the pieces then landed and hopped across the floor until it stood near Dan’s hand. It cocked its head side to side, then gave a loud CAW! CAW!
The monsters came around the crow and looked at it.
The crow cocked its head at Dan. “You must choose,” it cawed in its crow voice.
“Choose what?” Little Dan asked.
“Who lives.” The crow cocked its head. “And who dies.”
“Bad games!” Dan shook his head. “I don’t want to play that game. No, sir!”
The crow blinked, hopped, and cocked his head back and forth.
A monster knelt on the ground in front of Dan. From his robe, he brought a small silver tear.
The tear sang, but you could barely hear it.
And Dan knew the song instantly.
“That’s Stormy’s song!” he cried.
The crow cocked its head at the tear, then back to Dan, as if asking a question.
“Choose!” it cawed. “Choose!”
“You don’t hurt my friend, crow,” Dan said. He wagged his finger at the bird and saw to his amazement that his whole arm was made of silver—pure, shiny silver.
The crow squawked. It jumped to a new perch.
The monster squeezed the silver tear.
The song began to die.
“You don’t hurt my friend, you darn egg monster!” Dan shouted. “You don’t hurt Stormy!” He pushed his silver hand at the thing—and a funnel of silvery fire shot out of this hand and hit the monster in its chest, its black robes burning up in white flame.
He could save Stormy!
Dan moved his silver hand and melted the monsters with his silver fire. The monsters’ robes rushed up in flames, weird egg-shaped heads hissing and splitting, cracking, darker things coming now from the cracks, weird black things clawing out of the egg heads, flashing black blades.
“Even you,” the crow cawed in a strange voice, like it came from a thousand throats. “Even you have chosen.”
“I didn’t choose! No, sir! I didn’t want to play!” Dan yelled. “You made the bad games. You hurt Stormy. He made his hand into a fist, silver-white flames sizzling around his knuckles, and aimed at the crow.
But the crow just jumped aside and cocked its head, and then there was nothing but rising out of sleep into darkness and pain.
24
WHEN DAN WOKE, he was tied to his bunk, again.
His arms were stretched out above his head, his legs were pulled all the way down, twine biting into his skin, black cords wrapped tight around his wrists and ankles, just like before. And it was cold.
“Chief!” Dan hollered.
But there was nobody in the barracks.
Dan could tell because there wasn’t any noise, and the little lamp in the can was blown out. That lamp was never blown out unless everybody was gone for the day.
“I gotta be out there for muster!” Dan yelled. “Hey! Hey! I gotta go muster, Chief. Today’s the day! Chief! Chief!”
The darkness swallowed his voice.
And he had to go to the bathroom.
Real bad.
“Should be against the rules,” Dan muttered. Not a fun game. No, sir. And how was he supposed to get out now? Master Falmon had said sharp and tight, not to be late. Dan shook his head. He must have been so tired from the night before, slept through everyone getting up. Why didn’t they wake him up?
Dan pulled on his wrists. He pulled on his ankles. The twine was super tight. His sore elbow was real sore again, too. He wished he had some of that blue leaf that Master Falmon had.
“Darn it,” he whispered.
“Think, soldier,” Dan said to himself in Colj’s deep voice. “Think.”
“Yes, little soldier.” Crazy Bill’s whisper came from the dark. “Think.”
Dan froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
There was the scrape-scrape of flint and steel, a white spark in the black, then the orange glow of an oil lamp. A big shadow held the lamp, wobbly and huge. The shadow came toward him, lifted its lamp, and showed Crazy Bill’s crazy eyes glowing blood orange.
Little Dan started to say something, but Crazy Bill touched his finger to his lips. “Shh, little soldier. Shh. They’s all gone now. It’s just you and me, soldier.” Crazy Bill pointed at himself with his thumb and then Dan with his finger. “Just you—and me.”
When Crazy Bill said these last words, he smiled. His teeth seemed long, and the way his eyes glowed made him seem crazier than ever.
Dan swallowed. “I—uh, I gotta get up with Stormy, Crazy Bill.” Then he added. “I gotta go to the can.”
Crazy Bill shrugged. “Maybe you do that after we’re done. They already gone.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Nobody said nothing ‘bout a stupid little crazy going up there. Big day today. Everyone up and out and ready to watch. Ready to fight, maybe? Ain’t nobody gonna be down here for a long time.” He stepped closer to Dan’s bunk, squatted down beside it, and set his lamp on the floor. “Just you and me.”
Crazy Bill crouched there for a while, kind of hunched over. Then he sat down cross-legged beside Dan and took a weird little knife out of his pocket. It looked like something that he had made himself. The blade was tiny, but it looked super sharp.
“All day together.” Crazy Bill looked him over from head to foot, pulled on the twine at Dan’s wrists, making sure they were tight. “Beautiful day.”
Dan blinked. Then he said, “The Chief won’t like it if you do the bad games on me, Crazy Bill.” But in his head, Dan was already starting to think about himself like he was Stormy, sliding out and away from his own skin, down into Stormy’s silver skin, going away from his own body. Nobody could hurt Stormy. No, sir. He just had to be like Stormy—to be Stormy—and then the bad games wouldn’t hurt. That’s the way. Yes, sir. The way he always did it when it was gonna be like this. Dan just closed his eyes and saw himself changing and turning into a big silver cannon with hard cannon bones and no brains inside, just the high silver that could never be sore or hurt or cut. Stormy never felt bad. No, sir.