Deliverance

by C. J. Redwine

  Connor looks at her. “Would you alter your internal composition to avoid the occasional taunt from a small-minded adversary?”

  “See?” Willow frowns. “I can’t even figure out what you’re saying.”

  “I’m asking if you’d change who you are in here”—he leans forward and taps her above her heart—“just because some people are incapable of understanding you.”

  “He sounds like Quinn,” I say to Willow.

  Her jaw flexes as she meets Connor’s gaze. “No, I wouldn’t change. And I’d make sure I knew how to defend myself with more than just words. Better yet, I’d take the fight to them.”

  Connor’s expression shutters. “There will always be someone who despises me for the books I enjoy, or the clothes I wear, or the way I express my thoughts. If I took the fight to them, I’d never stop swinging.”

  “Exactly.” Willow grins as if Connor has discovered the secret to a life well lived, and then she and Adam move ahead of us as we crest the final hill before reaching Hodenswald. Drake and Nola are behind us, as are Smithson, Jodi, and Peter. Frankie moves his horse to Connor’s side and looks at the boy.

  “Don’t you worry about them,” Frankie says in a gruff voice. “There are two kinds of people in this world—those who are confident enough to treat others with respect and those who are miserable inside and spend their lives tearing others down because they think it will somehow make up for what they lack.”

  “I’ve spent my life learning how to avoid people like them.” Connor nods toward Gregory and Orion. “It’s just a bit difficult to do so when we’re forced to endure one another’s company.”

  “We’re almost to Hodenswald,” I say as my horse plods along beneath the graceful boughs of a pine tree. “You won’t have to worry about the Commander’s men much longer. Your part in the journey will be over.” I glance at Melkin’s staff, strapped to Connor’s back, and wonder how I’m going to take custody of it again without the Commander becoming suspicious.

  Connor follows my gaze and sits up a little straighter in his saddle.

  “You can’t carry the staff,” Connor says quietly.

  “I’ll have to. If you give it to me as a parting gift—”

  “Then the Commander will wait until you’re away from Hodenswald before he takes it from you by force.” Connor’s dark eyes are steady as he looks at me. “He’s bound to wonder why I would gift it to you, which means he’ll take a closer look at it and realize it’s made from the same metal as the Rowansmark device he carries.”

  “I’ll carry it,” Frankie says. “Let that brute try to take it from me by force. I dare him.”

  Connor smiles. “You have courage. Both of you. But I’ve observed the way the Commander and his men watch you when you aren’t looking. They’ll take the staff and the modified controller Logan is building. And then they’ll take your lives.”

  “The Commander needs Logan to dismantle the beacons in the other northern city-states and work the tech once we reach Rowansmark,” Frankie says.

  I meet Connor’s eyes and share a moment of perfect understanding. “The Commander will insist on observing how I shut down the beacons in Hodenswald, and he’s arrogant enough to believe he can work the tech as well as I can. Connor’s right.”

  He’s right, and I don’t know what to do about it. I need Melkin’s staff. I can’t hand over the modified Rowansmark controller to the Commander without also having a secret tanniyn-controlling weapon of my own. Not that the staff does more than call the beast, but still. If I can strengthen the signal, and if there are multiple beasts lurking beneath the Wasteland, I will have a weapon capable of getting my people out of a desperate place should the situation in Rowansmark turn against us. No one, not even the Commander, would be focused on killing us if the ground was getting ready to spew multiple tanniyn.

  “I’ll go with you,” Connor says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  I stare at him, at his polished boots and the white shirt he meticulously whisks with a fabric brush each night before sleep, and say the first stupid thought to come into my head. “It’s dangerous.”

  His mouth tightens. “I’m aware of the danger. As are you, but that isn’t stopping you from committing yourself wholeheartedly to a task that might very well cost you your life, is it?”

  “No one doubts your courage, boy.” Frankie nudges his horse closer to Connor’s and claps a huge hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Logan just likes to make sure his people know the risks before they follow him.”

  “And also, I might be a little scared of your mother,” I say. “But no, I don’t doubt your courage. I just can’t promise to protect you. I can promise to do my best, but if you were at my trial in Lankenshire, you know my best hasn’t been terribly effective.” I speak matter-of-factly, but it’s hard to scrub the doubt and regret out of my voice. Every decision I make, every plan I formulate, every worst case scenario I consider carries behind it the weight of all the people I lost to Ian as I led our group across the Wasteland.

  Frankie glares at me and opens his mouth as if to argue with my words, but Connor beats him to it.

  “I’m of the opinion that any leader who cares about his failings is a leader worth following. I’m going. I’ll carry the staff and stand as Lankenshire’s witness on your behalf. I wager killing you in an underhanded fashion will be more difficult for the Commander to accomplish with the specter of my mother looking over his shoulder. God knows my mother has that effect on me.”

  Connor nudges his horse forward, and I follow suit as I consider Connor’s belief that the Commander is actively looking for ways to learn what I know so that he can get rid of me before the showdown in Rowansmark. I know Connor’s right because I’d be doing the same thing, and the Commander is many things, but he’s no fool.

  He won’t try to double-cross me yet, but the only thing keeping him from making good on his promise to reunite me with my mother is the fact that he doesn’t know how to dismantle the Rowansmark beacons or how to replicate the tech that we’ll need to protect our army from the threat of the tanniyn. The second he no longer needs me for either of those things, he’ll do his best to kill me. Connor’s presence will help, but the truth is the Commander’s sword has been hovering over the back of my neck since the moment he walked into Lankenshire’s dungeon.

  Which is why I need to kill him first.

  As the last of the thick oaks scattered across the meadow gives way to a stretch of grass dotted with hawthorn trees and clusters of wild blueberry bushes, I take a hard look at my options.

  Best Case Scenario #1: Once the battle against Rowansmark has decidedly turned in our favor, and I no longer need the Commander to lead the troops, I bury my sword in his heart. This option depends on the Commander being focused on the battle, and on the Brute Squad paying more attention to the fighting than to protecting their leader. Which is unlikely to occur. It also depends on me being near him and not inside Rowansmark hunting for Rachel. Again, unlikely to occur.

  Best Case Scenario #2: I challenge the Commander to a duel, thus forcing his soldiers to allow him to fight his own battle. He may be more experienced than I am, but he’s also significantly older. I could take him, but could I trust the Brute Squad not to try to immediately avenge his death? I don’t think so.

  Best Case Scenario #3: I do what I told Rachel I would do—build tech that is specifically engineered to destroy the Commander. This option allows me the most distance from him, eliminating the need to take him by surprise or deal with his guards, but it’s fraught with risk of its own. What if the tech malfunctions? What if the injury to him is minimal, and I’m left with no backup plan but my sword and the hope that I can kill him before his guards kill me?

  Worst Case Scenario: Every plan I come up with fails, or the Commander manages to kill me first.

  The thick stone gate guarding Hodenswald’s entrance is barred shut. Two guards dressed in uniforms that match the brown stone of the wall stand on the parape
t above, metal arrows loaded into crossbows and pointed straight at us as we approach. Long, spear-like weapons protruding from the two closest turrets are pointed at us too. A whirring sound—like a well-oiled chain running swiftly along its track—comes from behind us. I turn to find that four stone columns, all equipped with spring-loaded spears, have risen from hiding places beneath the meadow and are turned toward the gate. One wrong move and weapons will converge on us from multiple angles.

  No one could escape from that.

  I pause midstep and slowly scan my surroundings. Spears to the east, west, and south of us. Arrows to the north. A circle of destruction, impossible to overcome.

  Impossible to survive.

  My gaze rests on the Commander as he glares with an arrogance that dares the Hodenswald guards to speak to him.

  A circle of destruction. Impossible to survive.

  That’s what I need. Not just my sword. Not just tech aimed at the transmitter in his wrist or at the necklace he wears to keep the tanniyn at bay. I need to surround him with weapons he can’t outrun. Can’t outfight.

  Can’t defeat.

  “State your name and the reason for your visit,” one of the guards, a woman with a square jaw and suntanned skin, calls down to us.

  “Commander Jason Chase of Baalboden here for my yearly diplomatic visit with your leader, Lyle Hoden.”

  The same woman speaks again. “You aren’t scheduled to visit for another two months.”

  The Commander’s back stiffens, and his words are clipped. “I do not need to inform you when my schedule changes. Tell Lyle that I am here.”

  The guards exchange a quick glance, and then the woman’s companion, a man with deep lines on his face and a few scraps of hair on his head, leaves. The woman watches us in silence, her crossbow held steady. The sun beats down on us without mercy while we wait.

  When the male guard returns with orders to open the gate, the columns behind us sheathe their spears and slowly sink beneath the ground again as we walk into the city. I scan the compact brown buildings, see a scattering of Rowansmark beacons, and smile grimly as an idea hits me.

  A circle of destruction. Impossible to survive. Aimed straight for Commander Jason Chase.

  I know exactly how to build that.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LOGAN

  Lyle Hoden doesn’t keep us waiting. A woman with long dark hair and a vibrant red dress that brushes against her ankles meets us just inside the gate. Her focus is on the Commander as she strides toward him with the kind of confident power that reminds me of Clarissa. One of the Hodenswald guards leads our horses away. I notice that Connor has removed his green Lankenshire cloak and emissary’s pin—a smart move, making sure the trackers within the city are unaware of Lankenshire’s affiliation with us in case something goes wrong.

  I desperately hope nothing goes wrong.

  “Commander, how nice to see you again. Welcome to Hodenswald. How many in your party?” She turns to scan the rest of us and falters briefly when she sees Connor. A tiny frown puckers the skin between her brows, and then she looks at the Commander again. “Will you require separate rooms for each of your people?”

  He barely spares us a glance. “Do what you want with them. Where’s Lyle?”

  With another quick, sidelong glance at Connor, the woman turns on her heel. “He’s waiting for you at his home. Please follow me.”

  The streets of Hodenswald are as straightforward and no-nonsense as the exterior. Dark stone paves roads that divide the city into neat sections. Tall lampposts made of iron hold oil lanterns on simple hooks and are spaced about twenty yards apart. We move quickly past buildings on either side, but everything is the same brown stone with little to no exterior adornment, and it’s impossible to tell what each building is used for.

  I move to walk beside Connor as the woman ahead of us makes a sharp left turn and approaches a compact building with three stories, a narrow front door, and black curtains blocking out the windows.

  “She knows you,” I say quietly as the woman marches up the low set of stairs leading to the building’s front door.

  “Yes.”

  “Who is she?”

  The woman opens the door and steps aside to allow the Commander to enter. The Brute Squad follows closely on his heels.

  “Her name is Amarynda Buehrlen. She’s the sister of Clarissa Vaughn and the daughter of Lyle Hoden.” Connor looks at me. “But I just call her Aunt Mandy.”

  Frankie and Willow disappear through the doorway with Adam close behind. I grab Connor’s arm and slow his progress as we approach the steps.

  “Are you telling me that the leader of Hodenswald is your grandfather?”

  He grins. “Did you think Mom sent me on this mission because of my stunning expertise in navigating the Wasteland?”

  “I didn’t . . . no. No, I was wondering why Clarissa chose to send you, actually.”

  Something dark flashes in his eyes, and I hurry on before the hurt I just saw can take root and grow in him. “Not that I’m not happy to have you. You’ve already proven yourself to be both brave and smart.”

  “Not smart about the things the rest of you take for granted, but I have influence here. I won’t be completely useless on this trip,” he says quietly.

  Jodi nods to the woman—Amarynda—and enters the building with Nola, Drake, and Smithson behind her.

  I meet Connor’s eyes, and we stop at the base of the steps. “You aren’t useless. You came into this with a different skill set than the rest of us, but that doesn’t mean you have nothing to offer. Besides, two months ago, nobody but Willow and I had experience traveling the Wasteland either. They learned, and so will you.”

  A corner of his mouth quirks up. “I can see why your people follow you.”

  My chest tightens, and I look away.

  “Come on,” I say, and take the steps quickly.

  The interior is well lit and furnished with plain, utilitarian pieces. Amarynda leads us down another set of steps and through a pair of double doors at the end of a long hall. We find ourselves in a square, windowless room where oil lanterns glow against the white walls, straight-back benches fill half the space, and a large table dominates the north end of the room. The benches are empty, but a man flanked by two Rowansmark trackers sits in a wheelchair at the table, watching us as we walk toward him.

  “Jason! Excellent to see you as always.” The man’s voice booms out, shaky with age but still powerful. His broad shoulders and compact build remind me of the buildings in his city. He sweeps our group with a sharp gaze, and then turns his brown eyes on the Commander. “Right on time for our yearly trade negotiations. Punctual. I’ve always appreciated that about you.” His glance darts toward the trackers who flank him and then returns to the Commander. “We must discuss how much you expect us to pay for corn this year, of course. The prices you wanted last year were highway robbery.”

  “Still getting right to the point, I see.” The Commander gives no indication that he knows Lyle is lying for the sake of the trackers. “While we’re laying our issues on the table, I’ll tell you right now that the ale you sold to us last year was subpar for the price you charged. And I’ll not be giving you a small fortune for oil, either.”

  Lyle laughs and reaches down to wheel his chair away from the table. “Subpar ale! You didn’t think so when you were busy drinking my samples.”

  “And you didn’t complain about the price of my corn.”

  Lyle rounds the edge of the table, and I see that the lower half of his body is shriveled and twisted. He catches me staring at his legs and smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t let the legs fool you, son. I can do more damage with my arms than most men could ever hope to do with their entire body.”

  I nod as if I agree with him. His eyes slide ove
r Connor without pausing, and he rolls himself to the center of the room, right beside the Commander. I start to look toward them when I realize one of the trackers is watching me closely, a slight frown on his face.

  “I trust you brought experts to test my samples this year?” Lyle asks the Commander.

  The Commander glances at me and then says, “Of course.”

  “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Bring your experts, and let’s go test my ale and your corn.” He looks at Amarynda. “Have Jordan show the rest of Commander Chase’s party to their lodgings.”

  “He’ll be here shortly.”

  “Wait a minute.” The tracker who keeps staring at me steps forward and addresses Lyle. “I’ll come with you.”

  Lyle’s face turns an alarming shade of red. “Think you can drink my ale for free, do you? I signed a protection agreement, not a standing invitation to raid my stores. If you want ale, you buy it at the going rate.” His hands grip the wheels on his chair until his knuckles turn white. “I’m not running a charity here.”

  “I don’t want to drink your ale, old man.”

  “Old man!” Lyle whips his chair around and speeds toward the tracker. “Pull your sword, fool. I’ll show you what this old man can do.”

  “Father!” Amarynda rushes forward and jumps between the tracker and Lyle. “I’m sure Tracker Sharpe meant no disrespect.”

  “He meant every disrespect.” Lyle’s voice trembles with fury. “He called me old man. He wanted to drink my ale.”

  Amarynda looks over her shoulder at Sharpe. Her voice is calm. “The ale is below us in the cellar. You’ve already searched that room. What is the harm in allowing him to conduct his trade negotiations as he always does?”

  Sharpe’s jaw tightens. “Fine. But we search the visitors before they go to the cellar.”

  I meet the Commander’s eyes in a moment of shared panic. If they search him, they’ll find the Rowansmark device he carries. If they search me, they’ll find schematics for improving upon the device’s design. And if they pay too much attention to Connor, I’ll lose the staff.