Ember's End

by S D Smith

  “I’ll consult with my doctor,” he said, turning to wince as Helmer landed, stumbled, then rose again in a corkscrewing hop that turned him over as he crashed to the ground.

  Emma and Picket exchanged a concerned look. “At least he’s tough,” Emma said.

  Jo and Cole hurried to help Helmer up, and he stood unsteadily, arms out wide as if he expected the earth to heave suddenly and knock him off his feet.

  They secured their packs, Cole helping Helmer as the old buck stood still, shaking his head.

  “Let’s go,” Emma said when she was certain he was all right. “We have to hurry.”

  Just then, a band of tall rabbits emerged from the cover of nearby trees, their black armor dotted with silver stars. “Who goes there?”

  “Friends,” Emma said.

  “Friends?” a large brown buck asked, stepping to the front of the band and holding high a torch so that the light fell on Emma’s and Picket’s faces. “This looks like Picket Longtreader, the murderer of King Bleston. And, what now? It’s the Red Witch usurper herself!” He stepped back a moment, fear in his eyes. Then, glancing left and right, he stepped forward again. “No wonder you fell from out of the sky, like birds of prey. So the legends are all true, I see. Tameth Seer will be pleased to see you both.”

  “Pleased to kill them both,” a white buck said bitterly, drawing his sword. “And I’ll be pleased to see that.”

  Chapter Eight

  THE PRINCE’S SWORD

  The Terralain soldiers stood back, eyeing Emma nervously. The brown leader sent a messenger running back to the main camp. Then he stepped closer. “You will come with us.”

  “We need to speak to Prince Kylen,” Emma said.

  “The prince is unwell,” the white buck said, eyes cold, “but we are led well enough by Tameth Seer and King Bleston’s second son.”

  “Where is Captain Vulm?” Helmer asked, his voice even.

  “You pretend not to know?” the leader snapped back. “An assassin from the Red Witch killed honorable Vulm in his sleep. He was a valiant captain! This was the last offense. As the seer said, war is the only answer to such villainy.”

  Picket thought of Winslow, of how Emma had pardoned him and many more in First Warren. She was merciful and just. That she was being called these vile names and being accused of assassinating a Terralain officer was enraging. But he tried to stay calm. These soldiers needed no provocation.

  “Vulm was a good officer,” Helmer said. “I would like to meet his murderer and have words with him again.”

  “So you know the murderer?” the white buck cried, spitting. “You admit it!”

  “I have met him,” Helmer said, lip curled in a snarl. “But now we must speak with Kylen. We’ll discuss these things with him. We didn’t fly here to argue with you, Lillywhite.”

  The leader frowned, then motioned with his head for them to move north, the way the messenger had gone. The white buck stared up at the leader through eyes thinned to slits, then moved alongside the company, flanking Emma’s close-packed companions.

  They walked on, Picket sticking close to Emma. “You didn’t say anything,” he said softly.

  “They called me a witch! I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get us killed,” she answered.

  “There wasn’t much to choose from,” he agreed. “This is a tight furrow to plow.”

  The Terralain captain walked just beside Helmer, his sword out and his face agitated. The white buck seemed eager for trouble to break out, and he eyed them angrily while fidgeting with his sword. The rest of their band seemed uneasy and angry at once, their faces blurring to black at the edge of the torchlight. Picket couldn’t tell how many there were. The nervous leader stepped aside into the shadows, then emerged a few moments later flanked by four massive bucks. They patrolled both sides of Emma and Picket.

  Picket heard a burst of laughter and looked back to see Jo and Cole smiling. He stared at them, disbelieving, while Jo stepped forward to walk beside Picket.

  “It’s a long story,” Jo whispered in response to Picket’s questioning look.

  “I can’t wait to hear it,” Picket replied, “if we live through this very serious and dangerous situation.”

  Jo nodded, then turned to the truly hulking buck a few feet away, a grey rabbit with a white ring around one eye. Jo looked back and winked at Picket, then turned back to the huge buck. To Picket’s surprise, Jo started singing softly.

  “Come, ye fine does, and look upon me,

  I’m big as a mountain, but dumb as a tree …

  I dance like a madman, just about to sneeze,

  So come, ye fine does, and look upon me.”

  Picket grabbed at Jo’s arm as the grey buck’s eyes grew wide with surprise.

  “Tunk, what’s happening?” the leader snapped.

  The grey buck, obviously Tunk, looked around at his commander, then back over at Jo with alarm. “Captain Granger, they spied on me!”

  “Spied on you?” Captain Granger asked. “How am I supposed to believe that? What were you doing that needed spying on?”

  Jo smirked. “He was eating one of our soldiers.”

  “I was …” Tunk began, “er, um … I was …”

  Jo just smiled, bobbing a bit to the tune he was humming.

  “Just guard them, you great brainless heap,” Captain Granger hissed.

  Tunk saluted and walked on with an occasional sideways glance at Jo, always puzzled.

  Jo edged over to Tunk, who nervously gripped his spear. “The dancing was amazing, Tunky, old fella. I hope you make it home for the festival. Especially if that means you won’t be killing me and my friends.”

  Tunk’s mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide.

  Picket frowned, then looked over at Emma. She shook her head.

  After passing several more fires in a long clearing flanked by woods, they finally approached the main camp and the huge central fire.

  The camp was vast, spreading far and wide, containing an enormous army capable of the unimaginable. But no, Picket could imagine it. He could see a great sea of soldiers crashing on First Warren, spreading devastation and death until both sides were finally weakened to feeble scraps of their former strength. Easy pickings for the Lords of Prey. Certain victory for Morbin. An end to their hoped-for mending.

  The messenger who had been sent ahead came back now and spoke to the leader, Captain Granger.

  “The seer is at his rites,” the messenger said. “He will be called when he emerges.”

  “Send for the prince,” Granger said.

  The messenger nodded and, after a wary glance at Emma, ran off again.

  By now a crowd of soldiers had gathered, black-armored and glowering. Picket eyed them warily from the central fire. Some carried torches, and all were angry and armed. They gazed in brazen hatred at him but only glanced at Emma and looked quickly away again.

  Fear. Anger. A brooding unrest.

  They were silent. All were silent, and this was far more unsettling than noise. Picket could almost wish for insults to fly at him. It would seem better than this quiet, a silence ripe with hate.

  “Make way for the prince,” came a call from the darkness beyond the edge of the firelight. The gathered soldiers parted and made a lane, those in front bowing on one knee as a hurrying form in the distance approached.

  “I hope it’s Kylen,” Picket whispered, squinting into the dark.

  As the form drew nearer, Picket frowned. It was a shorter, stockier buck. As his face became visible, Picket saw a likeness to Kyle, but where Kyle’s face was pleasant and his demeanor winsome, this buck’s features were hard-set and only thinly veiled a boiling fury. This was Kyle’s brother Naylen, Bleston’s second son.

  Picket instinctively stepped away from Emma, even as the others stepped closer to her, so that he was distant from the others of his company. He acted on instinct, but it seemed the approaching buck had anger aimed at him, and he didn’t want it spilling o
nto Emma.

  “Picket Kingkiller!” Naylen shouted as he reached the edge of the encircling soldiers and came into full view. “You will pay for the betrayal and murder of my father.” He was strong, well-built, and ably armored. He ripped free his blade and, bursting forward with surprising speed, rushed at Picket.

  “No!” Emma cried, trying to step toward Picket, but Jo and Cole held her back.

  The angry prince reached Picket quickly, feinting right before bringing his blade around to strike at Picket’s left knee. Picket blocked the stroke and leapt from his good leg, kicking up to meet the wrist of his attacker. His kick knocked the sword free of Naylen’s hand as Picket swept back around to drive a darting kick into his middle. Naylen stumbled, tripped, and spilled onto his back. The crowd gasped as Picket caught his attacker’s sword out of the air and loomed over the splayed form, bringing both sword points to the prince’s neck.

  As with many of the moments in flight or battle he had experienced, these seconds, though so few, seemed to stretch past the ordinary limits of time. Picket felt as though he was master of the moment, and though he had only an instant to act, he took the measure of the encounter and knew what he must do.

  Picket drew back the prince’s sword, as though he would strike. The gathered bucks shouted, and the prince recoiled. But Picket glanced at the sword, then drove its point into the ground. He took Naylen by the hand and dragged him to his feet. Then Picket knelt, offering his own sword, handle first, to the stunned buck. The puzzled prince took Picket’s sword but seemed uncertain what to do with it.

  “I have not done that thing of which I am accused,” Picket said with conviction, looking into Naylen’s eyes with complete candor.

  Naylen said nothing, only gazed wide-eyed at Picket’s face.

  Then a shout came from behind. “Lies!”

  Picket twisted back to see the white rabbit who had led them to this place darting into the open circle, sword poised to strike Picket’s back.

  Before Picket could react, Helmer, having anticipated just this, quickly crossed the distance and shot out an arm to meet the attacker’s neck. The white buck, stunned by this intervention, was flipped back by the blow and landed crashing on the ground, opening his eyes to see Helmer’s blade at his neck.

  The crowd pressed in, anger and confusion swelling. Cole and Jo flanked Emma, eyes alert.

  Then an ancient, shrill voice screamed out, “Kill them!”

  Chapter Nine

  THE END IN SIGHT

  Kill them, now!”

  They turned to see the old soothsayer, Tameth Seer, standing in a new-made gap in the crowd, eyes wild and bony finger pointing at Picket. But when the tall soldiers spun back to execute his order, they saw that another figure had entered the circle. Kylen, thin and sickly, stumbled into their midst, between Tameth Seer and Picket, and shouted in a hoarse retort.

  “Stay!” he cried with his hands held high, turning this way and that to address them all. “Stay, by my command!” Around his neck, dangling bright red from a golden chain, was the Whitson Stone.

  The poised rabbits paused, glancing back and forth between Tameth Seer and Kylen. Naylen hurried to his brother’s side.

  “The prince is unwell,” Tameth Seer said, eyes crazed as he strode into the circle.

  “I am well enough to judge as Terralain’s ruler and the heir of all Natalia,” Kylen said, clasping his hands together in front of the ruby around his neck, “as you yourself have prophesied.”

  Tameth Seer scowled; then his face softened and his head fell. “I have seen it, Your Highness,” he said, and Picket thought he sounded sincere, almost regretful. “I have seen you in visions, bringing the end. There is a flood. You are brimming over with destiny.”

  Kylen looked over the visitors and grimaced as Naylen helped support him. He motioned to the few soldiers who had accompanied him, those marked with a red shoulder shield. “Bring them to my pavilion.”

  Then Picket, swordless and amazed, was led, along with his companions, through the charged camp of Terralain warriors.

  Before long they were inside Kylen’s tent, large and comfortable but far from lavish. It was long and had a cloth partition midway across. A modest wooden throne sat atop a small rise. Picket winced at the several displays of silver stars on a black field. He had once held such high hopes at the sight of that symbol.

  “Leave us,” Kylen said, and his guards parted the tent flap and left. “You too,” he went on, pointing to Helmer, Jo, and Cole.

  Helmer frowned, seemed about to protest, then looked at Picket. Few could read anything in that seemingly plain expression, but Picket read much in it. I have confidence in you. I’m proud of you.

  Picket nodded, and the three rabbits withdrew, leaving Kylen with Emma and Picket.

  Kylen slumped into the wooden throne and rubbed his eyes. Picket thought he looked weary and weak, a gaunt contrast to the lively, mischievous buck he had first met at Cloud Mountain. Head in his hands, Kylen almost groaned his few words. “Say what you came to say.”

  “Prince Kylen,” Emma began, “we are cousins. It is a desperate time for rabbitkind, and we must unite—”

  Kyle cut her off.

  “From him,” Kyle said, pointing at Picket. “I want … to hear it … from him.”

  Emma glanced nervously over at Picket and seemed about to go on but finally yielded.

  “Kyle, you know what’s at stake,” Picket began. “Our true enemy will attack soon. We are going … we’re going to lose. We’re going to be routed, in fact. Morbin is coming for us, and he is bringing death and desolation with him. First Warren will fall. Next nearest, Harbone, will fall. Halfwind, Kingston, and Cloud Mountain … you know them. You’ve seen the faces of the children. The young twins whose parents are already lost will be butchered for the blackhawk’s pleasure. As will the votary does and widows of Morbin’s murders. They’re coming. They won’t stop. Please don’t make another deal with this evil. Come with us. Fight with us! You are cousins with our queen-to-be. Be my brother on the battlefield, and let’s shed blood together. That blood will bond us forever and wash away the problems of our past. This is about rabbitkind’s survival now. End your father’s feud with King Jupiter’s line, or else postpone it until we have gone after our true enemies. Please, Kyle … Prince Kylen, I beg you.” Picket dropped to his knees. “We need you. The younglings need you. Come to us, brother. Gain that fame that comes from changing your place in the story. Be for us a hero in our need. Be our ally from now on and Morbin’s no more, I beg you!”

  Kylen never looked up. But here he held up a hand, and Picket stopped.

  “She advised me to stop my treatment.” Kylen pointed at Emma, head still down. “She whispered convincing words to me in the forest. Told me to turn on my father’s most faithful guide. Told me to renounce my birthright and believe that my father’s killer was no true enemy.”

  “It’s true!” Emma said. “Kylen, it’s true! Did you stop the medicine?”

  “Silence, Emma!” Kylen shouted, lurching to his feet and taking two stumbling steps toward her. “Enchant me no more with … with your words. I see you have this betraying buck in your sway. You have lovely Heather in your thrall too … beautiful, sweet Heather … oh, the shame of it,” he went on, tears starting in his wild, sunken eyes, “but not me!”

  “Kylen, no,” Emma began, her open hands extended before her. “It isn’t like that. Let me help you again.”

  “No more, witch!” he roared.

  “Kyle,” Picket said urgently, “don’t be a fool. Can’t you see? Tameth Seer is poisoning you—your body and mind! We are not your enemies.”

  “If you slander the venerable seer once more in my presence, Longtreader,” Kylen said, his voice cold and low, “it will be your last act alive. In my excessive mercy, for love of your sister and because moments ago you let my brother live when you could have killed him, I will allow you all to leave. But you killed my father, Longtreader—do not dare d
eny it! The next time we meet, it will be on the battlefield.” Kylen’s voice trailed off as he lurched back to his chair and collapsed into it. He clutched the Whitson Stone and stared, eyes wild, into its red brightness. “And blood will flow. Between you and me, Picket. Blood will flow.”

  Tears streamed down Emma’s face. Picket’s heart sank. He felt the war was being lost right here in this Terralain tent, and he didn’t know how to stop it. No feat of arms, no risky trick in battle, could solve this riddle. He felt as weak and helpless as he had when Smalls had picked him up and carried him out of danger near Decker’s Landing. But there was no Smalls now. Picket’s own folly had doomed him to death. Now, more death would surely follow. Dread welled within and was met by a burrowing grief.

  “Oh, Kyle,” Picket whispered. “You’ll kill us all.”

  “Return his sword, brother,” Kylen said, “and escort them away.” Prince Naylen parted the stretched curtain behind the throne and walked into view, his square face set in a stern frown.

  “As you will, Kylen,” the brother said, crossing toward them. He seemed about to speak, but the tent flap parted and a hurrying train of eager rabbits ran in.

  Picket saw Helmer, Jo, and Cole among them. And Lallo, a young buck Picket had met at Halfwind but who was now stationed at First Warren. Lallo wore a glider cape and was breathing hard, and his face was distraught.

  Before Picket could ask, Kylen cried out, “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “Your Highness,” one of his red-shouldered officers said, bowing, “this buck has come from First Warren, and he reports that Morbin’s forces are advancing.”

  “What?” Emma asked as the pavilion erupted in worried conversation.

  “Wait!” Kylen screamed. “Be quiet!” The noise settled and he rose, both hands on the armrests of his throne. “Attacking? Now? But Tameth Seer said Morbin wouldn’t attack until—” He stopped when his eyes met Picket’s.

  “You villain!” Picket cried, rushing at Kylen. Helmer held him back, with help from a Terralain officer, Prince Naylen, and Cole. “Allied with Morbin once more? How dare you accuse me? You’re a wretched, grasping usurper like your father! A common villain prepared to betray anyone for gain and glory! Preyfriend! Morbin’s pet. Curse you, Kyle!”