The Only

by Katherine Applegate; Michael Grant

  “We call him Achoo,” said Tobble, ears quivering. “And you’ll need food for one wobbyk as well! If Byx is to be there, then I—”

  “Yes, you may go as well, Tobble,” Khara interrupted. “As you often surprise us. And I have long since learned that you two are inseparable.”

  “Who is the human rider?” Renzo asked suspiciously.

  “I am,” Khara said.

  “No, my lady!” General Varis protested. “That would be madness!”

  “Well, General,” Khara said with a crooked smile, “we’re out of sane ideas. Madness is all we have left.”

  The general pounded the railing with his fist. “You cannot risk yourself!”

  “The Army of Peace will follow as quickly as possible, General,” said Khara, calmly ignoring his outburst.

  Renzo grabbed Khara’s arm in a most unsoldierly way. “What can you do by yourself?” he demanded. “It’ll be suicide! And accomplish nothing.”

  “There are children down there, old people, peaceful farmers. I won’t abandon them, Renzo,” Khara said, as she gently, but firmly, extricated herself from his grip. “It might be possible to negotiate with one side or the other, perhaps both. For that, my truth teller will be necessary.”

  “But what can you possibly accomplish with just a dairne and a wobbyk?” General Varis’s face was ruddy with frustration, or perhaps even anger.

  “These two have done very well for us so far,” Khara said. She placed one hand on my shoulder, and one on Tobble’s. “But I’ll have something else as well.”

  With that, she wrapped the fingers of her right hand, blue with cold, around the hilt of her sword. She pulled out the blade and held it high. It didn’t glow—that only happened in moments of battle—but we all understood its breathtaking power.

  “I don’t know what I can do, General Varis,” said Khara. “But I know that I cannot stand idly by. I may be more poacher than lady. And my soldiers may be a young dairne and a little wobbyk.” She returned the sword to its humble scabbard. “But remember this, General: I carry the Light of Nedarra.”

  31

  Fear, Your Faithful Friend

  We made our way back to the army, and the general instructed his soldiers to set up a campsite in the shadow of a near-vertical stone wall. Khara, Tobble, and I immediately began preparations for our journey. My hands trembled slightly as I packed up, but it wasn’t just from the cold. It was anticipation, too. Khara needed my help. And what we were about to do could change the fates of nations.

  Worst of all, I was afraid. So afraid. I tried to remember my wise words of advice to Maxyn about overcoming fear. But they were just words. Empty syllables.

  This was different. This wasn’t just a trip to the natites. Or a speech to the wobbyks.

  This time, there was every chance we would never return to our friends.

  For her part, Khara seemed perfectly serene. I’d seen this before with her. Once she made a decision, no matter how difficult, Khara was always at peace.

  How did she do it? Wasn’t she afraid to die? Afraid, at very least, of the pain that came with death? Why couldn’t I find that inner calm? That certainty that my dying would somehow matter?

  General Varis, even if he wasn’t happy about her choice, appeared to have resigned himself to the inevitable. But Renzo was another story. He galloped off, a scowl on his face, and didn’t reappear until it was almost time for us to depart.

  Khara, Tobble, and I were in her tent, poring over a map as we discussed last-minute logistics, when Renzo stormed in, breathless and flushed.

  “Please,” said Khara, “do come in.”

  “Khara.” Renzo’s voice was hard. “You can’t do this.”

  I looked at Tobble. “We should, uh . . . go, maybe?”

  “Stay,” Renzo commanded, with all the authority of General Varis in a particularly foul mood. “Stay and hear this.”

  “All right then,” Tobble murmured, shrinking into a corner.

  “Khara.” Renzo seemed to realize he was pacing and stopped himself. “This is a suicide mission.” He was speaking slowly and carefully. “You will die. Byx and Tobble will die, too. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “I’d say that’s pretty clear, yes.” Khara wasn’t exactly smiling. But she wasn’t not smiling, either.

  “You understand I have nothing against insane fights or losing odds.” He shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I prefer them. But Khara, that’s not what this is.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest but didn’t speak.

  “And you know that I love the idiotic risks you’re willing to take for a cause you believe in. I love your ridiculous stubbornness. I love . . .” He trailed off.

  “I have to do this, Renzo.”

  He strode over, grabbing Khara by both shoulders. “Then let me go with you. At least let me die by your side.”

  “Renzo.” Khara’s voice was so soft I could barely hear it. “No. It’s hard enough to know I may be risking the lives of Byx and Tobble. Believe me, if I didn’t need Byx, I would never ask her to come. But a dairne could prove vital, and where Byx goes, so goes Tobble, it seems.”

  “And where you go, so go I.”

  “No,” Khara said simply. “I will not risk your life because you’re . . . fond of me.”

  “Fine, then.” Renzo stood motionless, staring into Khara’s eyes. “Fine. As you wish, my lady,” he said, with sudden formality.

  And then, to my surprise—and, I suspect, Khara’s—he kissed her. He was gone before she could speak.

  Khara looked over at us with a flustered smile. “Don’t listen to Renzo,” she said, clearing her throat. “There’s at least a tiny chance we won’t die.”

  We didn’t wait for dawn, instead riding while the moon was high. General Varis gave Khara a chestnut stallion, since her own horse seemed to be favoring its left front leg. I followed on Achoo, with Tobble sitting behind me. We had one spare horse carrying food, water, and oats.

  “Your horse’s name is Victory,” the general told Khara.

  “Good name,” she said as she tightened the girth on her saddle. “Let’s hope it’s not ironic.”

  I’d strapped my shield to my saddle. My sword hung at my side. I was ready.

  We were riding to stop a war and almost certainly would not survive. That was the truth I couldn’t escape: we were heading to our deaths.

  Deaths in a noble cause, but deaths nevertheless.

  It was hard not to dwell on the obvious. Everything we’d done, all the risks, all the wild adventures, would, in the end, prove futile. The Murdano’s army was advancing into the Zebaran plains. At any moment the terramants would complete their tunnel beneath the mountains and erupt into unprotected Nedarra. The Army of Peace would arrive behind us, too late to help.

  It was a recipe for disaster.

  Renzo was right, and we all knew it.

  Before we left, General Varis consulted with Khara one last time. I tried to listen, but I couldn’t concentrate, especially since I could feel Tobble trembling behind me.

  “Are you scared, my friend?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” he said, his voice pinched. “You?”

  “Not in the least,” I said. I twisted to look at him, and we both began to laugh. It was nervous laughter, certainly. Very nervous. But laughter nonetheless.

  As we headed off, General Varis, Bodick the Blue, and Renzo stood together, faces grave, watching us begin our descent. All three saluted.

  The farther we went, the less brutally cold was the air. The wind died out, so the clouds of steam coming off the horses formed delicate pockets of mist. We rode through them the way Rorid had cut through the clouds.

  “Huh,” I said. It was the first word any of us had uttered in perhaps two hours.

  “Huh? What ‘huh’?” Tobble demanded. He was grumpy because I’d awakened him.

  “There are four elements that make up all we know, right?”

  “You woke me fo
r this? I was having the most delicious dream about blue beetle soup.”

  I ignored Tobble. “They are, of course, fire, soil, water, and wind. So here’s what I’ve been thinking. We fought the Knight of the Fire. We fell into the terramant tunnel in the soil. The voyage to meet Queen Pavionne was our passage through water. And flying with Rorid, we learned the nature of the air.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t ride into more fire,” Tobble muttered.

  Khara turned in her saddle. “I was taught that there’s a fifth element.”

  “A fifth?” I frowned.

  “Spirit. We get warmth and light from fire. We get grain and fruit from the soil. From water comes all life, because without water, what can grow? The air gives us breath and lets us see the world. But it’s spirit that unites them all. Fire, soil, water, and wind have no meaning if we don’t understand them. It’s spirit that gives us understanding, and curiosity, and courage.”

  “So we’re taking this deadly trip to learn about spirit?” I asked.

  Khara laughed. “Perhaps so, Byx. We’ll certainly need courage.”

  “I’ll leave the courage to you, my lady,” Tobble said, still sounding grumbly. He’d had nothing to eat in many hours, and wobbyks do love their meals. “I’ll be the spirit of cowardice and fear.”

  “Are you afraid, Tobble?” Khara’s voice was gentle, not reproachful.

  “If Byx weren’t here, I’d tell you I’m not afraid,” Tobble said. “But here she is, and so my lady, yes, I’m very afraid.”

  “Me too,” said Khara. “It’s good to be afraid when you’re riding into danger. Fear keeps you sharp. It helps you stay alive.”

  “But you ignore your fear,” I protested.

  “Never. Fear’s the little fairy sitting on your shoulder whispering ‘take care’ into your ear. Courage isn’t fearlessness. Fear’s your faithful friend, Byx, so long as you don’t make one great mistake.”

  “Mistake?”

  Khara reined Victory in just a little. The path was wider and we were able to ride side by side. “Never let yourself be afraid of being afraid.”

  Tobble and I considered Khara’s words as we trotted between sparse trees.

  “I don’t recall,” Tobble finally said, “our friend Khara being quite so wise before she became a great lady.”

  Khara gave a rueful laugh. “It’s true I’m no more wise, Tobble,” she admitted. “But when people call you ‘the Lady,’ they tend to forget that fact.”

  “Wobbyks have a saying,” Tobble said. “‘Grow tall as a sapling, not tall as a weed. One is watered, the other cut down.’ It means—”

  “It means,” Khara interrupted, “that you can set yourself up as greater than others, but only if you’re a tree that gives shade. Not if you’re a useless plant that must be cut down.”

  “Why . . . that’s right,” Tobble said.

  “You see?” I said. “She really has become wise.”

  Wise, yes, I thought. And courageous enough for all of us put together.

  And yet, for all her wisdom, Khara didn’t have a dairne’s nose. She hadn’t yet discovered what I already knew.

  We were being followed by a human on horseback.

  32

  Ambush

  The sun rose and we found ourselves crossing rolling foothills, able at last to press forward at speed. Forests grew to our east and west, but we followed a path that led through lands cleared for farming, stubbled fields of harvested wheat and rye.

  We stopped briefly to water the horses and quickly eat a bite ourselves. It was too early for even farmers to be up, or so we thought, until we heard the lowing of cows anxious to be milked.

  “Let’s ride on, hopefully unnoticed,” Khara advised. “We can’t stop to chat with every passing villager.” But as we left the road to circle past a small village, Tobble spotted smoke coming from a stone tower. It was quite a considerable fire, a whole bale of hay aflame.

  “They’re warning other villages,” Khara said.

  “Warning them of what?” I asked.

  “Us. These are people who know little of the world beyond their own village. They’ve got no reason to trust strangers, certainly not strangers with swords.”

  I thought nothing more of it until we’d moved on and noticed another signal fire near the next village. As we approached, we saw a thin line of a dozen men and women standing across the path. Most carried staves and pitchforks. One old man had a sword. A middle-aged woman held a long pike.

  Khara reined in. “Good morning.”

  The man with the sword stepped forward. “Who are you that bids us good morning?”

  I spoke up. “This is the Lady of Nedarra. She leads the Army of Peace.”

  “Haven’t heard of it,” he said. “But we’ve yet to see an army that didn’t take our crops and burn our village.”

  “You’re wise to be cautious,” Khara said. “The danger is real, though it doesn’t come from us. The army of the Murdano has entered the Zebaran plains. And an army of terramants and soldiers that serves the Kazar of Dreyland may come as well. War is almost upon us. You’d be smart to hide your harvest in deep places in the forest. Your people, too.”

  By late morning we were on the plains at last, foothills and mountains finally behind us. We were exhausted, but as we followed the river, we felt cheered by the musical noise of water tumbling over rocks—and relieved that our waterskins could be refilled.

  We paused to let the horses drink from the river and munch some green shoots still poking through the mud.

  Khara seemed in good spirits, in spite of the tension in the air. “We’ve done well to get this far so quickly,” she said, stroking Victory’s mane, “but—”

  An odd whirring sound cut through the air. Tobble and I had been checking Havoc’s shoes for stones, and it took me a second to turn and see why Khara had stopped talking.

  Her eyes were wide and startled.

  An arrow had planted itself in Khara’s chest.

  She raised a hand to touch the shaft of the arrow, as if to confirm it was real, and then she cried, “Take cover!”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before more arrows flew. One hit Achoo in the haunch. Another struck Tobble’s waterskin.

  Khara dropped to her knees. I leapt for her and seized her belt, pulling her after me, although there was nowhere to hide.

  My shield, still strapped to Achoo, took a hit from yet another arrow. The shaft quivered, but the arrowhead did not seem to reach his hide.

  It was all happening so fast. I tried to locate the source of the attack but couldn’t place it. I assumed the enemy was in a little patch of trees nearby. But then I caught the flash of more arrows and realized we were under attack from the river.

  A skiff powered by two oarsmen was mid-river, coming downstream. Two others, a man and a woman, rode with them. Not soldiers, I didn’t think. Bandits.

  I had an instinct that they weren’t just planning to commit murder and steal our horses but might have spotted something even more valuable: a dairne.

  If so, they’d try not to mar my fur with a great bloody hole.

  I dropped to the ground, shielding Khara as best I could. The boat nosed into the bank and the man leapt out first, drawing a sword. The woman, carrying a large bow and quiver of arrows, followed.

  “Careful of the pelt!” the man warned, confirming my theory.

  They’d be on us in ten seconds. I brandished my small sword, and I knew Tobble would launch a crazed attack when they were close enough, but they weren’t fools. They spotted Tobble and must have been familiar with the danger posed by an enraged wobbyk.

  “Kill the wobbyk,” the swordsman ordered. The woman nocked an arrow.

  Behind me, I heard the thunder of hooves. More bandits, I assumed in despair.

  But I could see that neither of our attackers assumed any such thing, as they moved to face a new threat.

  A huge bay horse charged at full gallop. “Khara!” Renzo cried.


  He spurred his horse right over the swordsman, knocking him into the mud. The man clambered up and stood his ground, weapon at the ready. Renzo favored his right hand, and the swordsman shifted to stay on Renzo’s left, hoping to cut a thigh or perhaps stab upward into Renzo’s side.

  But Renzo shifted his weight as well. Tossing his sword sideways, he caught it in his left hand and plunged his blade into the man’s chest.

  Renzo reined in, shaking his bloody sword at the woman and her two oarsmen. “Come on, cowards! Come and test me!”

  They chose not to.

  The woman dashed back to the boat, and, working their oars feverishly, the bandits returned to the current.

  Without a pause, Renzo leapt from his horse and fell to his knees beside Khara.

  33

  All We Knew to Do

  Tobble and I could only watch as Renzo worked with practiced speed. He drew his knife and cut Khara’s leather jerkin away from the arrow shaft.

  “Water. Clean cloth. Then start a fire. Tobble, do you recognize sorcerer’s ear?”

  “I do!” Tobble cried, and ran toward the riverbank.

  With fumbling fingers I handed Renzo a waterskin, then pulled my blanket from my saddlebag. I ripped a section with my teeth, trying to hold back the tears and keep despair from overwhelming me.

  My friend, Khara!

  Our only hope for peace in this sorry world.

  The blood pumped from the hole in her chest. Her teeth chattered as Renzo packed the strip of blanket around the wound.

  “I ordered you to stay behind,” Khara murmured.

  Renzo forced a smile. “Did you?”

  He spilled water around her wound to see it more clearly, but the blood returned instantly. “Bring me an arrow!” he snapped.

  I raced to pull one from the dead archer’s quiver. “Here.”

  Renzo used his stretched fingers to measure the length of the arrow’s shaft. Then he examined the arrowhead.

  “It’s barbed,” he said. “And at least three inches have penetrated.”

  Khara’s eyes fluttered, and for a moment I thought she would lose consciousness.