by S D Smith
“Perhaps your best shot is yet to come.”
“I only hope to serve the cause. I fight for the mending, ma’am.”
“Very good, Archer Jo. I understand you’re quite close to my daughter.”
“I serve Princess Emma gladly, Majesty.”
“Good. Good. There’s someone else here who needs our help, Jo,” she said, stepping forward. “Will you help us?”
“I am yours to command, Majesty.”
A hooded figure emerged from behind a tree.
Chapter Thirty-Five
PICKET’S APPRENTICE
Picket peeled off his glider pack and laid it down on the palace rooftop as the Royal Fowlers Auxiliary wrapped up training. He watched the young bucks file down the hatchway stairs, recently enlarged alongside several other improvements to the crucial palace roof. These young bucks were doing better. They might be ready. But ready for what? His heart sank at the thought. He sighed and headed for the stairs. The princess would want a report.
Picket dreaded going to see Emma. He hated seeing her grow thinner and more worn with each day. The doom hovering over the city and all its preparations was palpable.
“Captain?”
Picket turned to see young Lallo, an infantrybuck from Halfwind who had made the R.F.A. “Yes?”
“Could I trouble you for a lesson?”
Picket frowned. “We just spent an hour in the air, soldier.”
“I want more. More from you,” Lallo said, head down. “See, I want to do what you’ve done, sir. To hit the enemy right between the eyes. To pay them back. To be … a … to be …”
“A legend?” Picket asked, smirking. “You want to be a legend?”
“Well, that’s what you are,” Lallo replied sharply. Picket hadn’t realized he was wounding the younger buck. “And you once told me I was like you, or you were like me. That we were the same. Infantry.”
Picket folded his glider pack and rubbed at his eyes. “We’re still in the thick of it together, Lallo. You’re in the R.F.A., and you’ll do your part.”
“I want you to show me how you do it,” Lallo said, face set.
“Do what, Lallo?”
“Infantry and airborne. In battle. You fight like no one else. You’re different. Better. I want that. I want to be that for the cause and crown.”
Picket hadn’t thought that way about himself. And he hadn’t thought much about how he had become what he had become. He tried to for a moment, closing his eyes. Images appeared in his mind, memories of days he had not thought about in a long time.
“I had a great trainer. I’m not one.” Picket smiled, then walked toward the stairs leading down into the palace.
“Ten minutes, sir,” Lallo said. “Just give me ten minutes.”
Picket stopped by the stairs, hanging his head low.
He didn’t want to see Emma right now, anyway.
“How many weapons do I have, Lallo?”
Lallo hesitated. “Sir, you have your sword and … uh … a knife?”
Picket turned, smiled, and rushed Lallo with a leaping kick, which sent the surprised buck to the ground. Picket didn’t leave him there. He kicked his glider pack so that it crashed into Lallo’s head, then snagged several signal flags from a nearby shelf and attacked the astonished rabbit with them. Lallo blocked the first blow, then kicked out and missed as Picket dodged to the side and drove a flag’s thick handle into his middle. Lallo gasped, sinking to his knees. Picket rose and kicked him down.
“How many weapons do I have?” Picket asked.
“A thousand?” Lallo gasped.
“Lesson one,” Picket said, extending a hand to the crumpled buck. “Everything’s a weapon.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
THE ODDS OF WAR
After an hour with Lallo, Picket dismissed the young buck and stood gazing at the preparations being made all over the city. They were close. If they could only have a few more days of preparation.
“Captain Longtreader,” Lieutenant Bannon, one of the Royal Fowlers Auxiliary officers, called, running up.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“R.F.A. patrol reported in, sir. There’s an army approaching.”
“Whereaway?”
“Northwest, Captain.”
So, it is Terralain, come to destroy us before we are fully and finally destroyed by Morbin. “Thank you, Bannon. Please find Lieutenant Shanks and ask him to meet me at the old gate road.”
“Sir, Lieutenant Shanks is gone. He left hours ago, taking flight in his glider from this very rooftop.”
“Were you here when he left?”
“Yes, sir,” Bannon replied. “I saw a young runner—Dalla, sir—bring him a note. Lieutenant Shanks read it and thanked Dalla. Then he stole a signal flag, ran to the edge, and flew off.”
Picket frowned. “Thank you, Bannon. Have Lord Captain Helmer and Captain Frye been alerted about the army?”
“Yes, sir. It was the lord captain himself who sent me to you.”
“Well done. Where is Cole?”
“He’s at mess, sir. He was scheduled to train the next section after you. Shall I ask him to meet you at the old gate?”
“No. Unless Lord Blackstar’s returned, he will have to muster with his father’s force from Kingston. Just you and Harmon and Lallo be ready with the R.F.A. Put the second squad on standby and stage the third.”
“Yes, sir.”
Picket drew his glider pack back on, locked it into place with help from Bannon, and limped to the edge of the roof.
“Oh, and Bannon,” he called.
“Yes, sir?”
“Which way did Jo fly?”
“West, sir. Due west.”
Picket leapt, closing his eyes as he plunged down, loose cape flapping in the wind. Opening his eyes, he shot out his arms, twisted his wrists to engage the glider, and sailed up in a smooth, swooping arc. Picket glided over the seventh standing stone and gained great height, mastering the wind’s sometimes erratic tracks, to survey from high above the city.
He saw them. A massive army, set off in columns, marching toward them. His heart sank, and he descended, bending in an elegant bank to glide over those rabbits working around the west gate, including the provisioners led by Captain Moonlight. Picket swept above the old road, dipping down till a sudden upward whip sent him flipping in a graceful sweep that ended with him landing on his feet. His bad knee only gave way a little, so that he ended by bending in a kneel.
“She’s watching,” Cap said, hobbling up. “I’m sure you impressed her.”
Picket smiled. “Cap, we have to get all your crew to fallback positions.”
“To the farm, already?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“They won’t want to go. I don’t want to go.”
“It’s the princess’s orders, Cap. And she’s right.”
“I know it,” he said, frowning. “I’ll get right on it.”
“And please,” Picket said hoarsely, “look after Weezie. I just couldn’t lose … not another …”
“I’ll stick close by her, Picket.”
Picket nodded and hurried ahead as Cap began bellowing orders. He had reached the edge of the city when a column approached from the left with Captain Frye at its head. The veteran soldier looked old and worn. He, like Emma and so many others in positions of leadership, seemed to grow thinner every day.
Helmer approached from the right flank, leading another column of soldiers. Most of the soldiers in the city were situated with their own citadel’s units, and the command structures were kept intact as much as possible. These two divisions, one led by Helmer and the other by Frye, were elite handpicked battlers meant to serve as the heart of the army. They were Emma’s own force, the Royal Warrenguard.
Picket watched as they marched to the edge of the west gate, then flooded out to form two arching wings to hold the opening of the gate. This part of the wall had been closed up long ago, but the allies had blown it apart when they enter
ed and took the city. It was now the focal point of defense. Picket peered aloft and saw that the Highwall Wardens were ready, with Emerson staged just above the gate on the high parapet.
“Captain Frye,” Picket said, saluting his old commander on the left. “Lord Captain Helmer,” he said, turning to bow to his master.
“Captain Longtreader,” Helmer said, stepping to the center, “assume command of my part of the Warrenguard, if you please.”
“Aye, sir,” Picket replied, saluting and stepping to Helmer’s right.
“I am assuming command of Her Royal Highness’s forces entire,” Helmer said.
“Aye, sir,” Captain Frye said, saluting.
Helmer returned the salute. Picket gazed at the black buck, grey specks stretching across his jaw and flecking most of his fur. Picket had never seen him like this, full weight of the cause assumed with calm expertise and grim defiance. Picket knew that this was what Helmer had run from, what he was so bitter about when Picket first encountered him at Cloud Mountain. The old hero had seen too many young soldiers die under his command, and it took training Picket to once again revive his fire for the cause. Picket wiped at his eyes, seeing him there after all they had been through.
But Helmer had been right, after all. We are here at the end, and no one will survive. Picket’s heart sank as he scanned the Warrenguard, seeing faces young and old, all of whom would likely be destroyed by day’s end. Behind these troops, the provisioners fell back, and Weezie was among them. Will I ever see her again? Some would regroup all the way back to Helmer’s family farm. At least she would be with her mother, bow in hand and ready to defend her family’s old homestead. Deeper in the city, the lords of each citadel were marching at the head of their own armies, all coming together in long columns stretching back past the palace and all along the river.
The lords left their captains in command and made their way to the gate. Lord Ronan, Lord Booker, Lord Felson, and the others all lined up behind Helmer.
“Lord Ronan for Blackstone,” Ronan said, “for the heir and for her cause.”
“Lord Booker for Vandalia and my father’s memory,” Lord Morgan Booker said. “We fight for the princess and her cause.”
“Lord Felson for Chelmsford,” Felson began, and the remaining lords pledged their forces formally to Emma through Helmer. No one, however, stood there for Kingston. Then Picket saw a black buck glide in quickly. He banked up close by, disengaged one taut wing, then spun down in an expert twist to land before Helmer, alongside the lords.
“Cole Blackstar, sir, for Kingston,” Cole said. “Since our ancestor Fleck and until the end of the world, we stand with Whitson’s heir and the cause of the mending!”
Picket nodded to Cole.
“My lords, you are welcome,” Helmer said, bowing to them. “You know the plan. Let’s begin our defense as we hope to end it.”
“With no flinching,” Lord Ronan said. “We must treat these rebels like raptors and cut them down.”
“Agreed,” Helmer said, frowning gravely. “It has come to that.”
“Signal hoist at H.Q., Lord Captain,” a signal aide named Jefwood called.
“What is it?” he asked, not even trying with his imperfect sight to read the flags.
“Enemy sighted,” Jefwood said.
“Thank you,” Helmer said, turning back to the lords. “Now, my lords. We must be certain to make them believe we are not coming out—”
“Sir, I beg your pardon,” Jefwood said, “but the signal is being repeated again and again.”
“What?” Helmer asked, turning to peer up at the palace. “Did we not replace that idiot Farns?”
“Yes, sir, that idiot Farns has been replaced,” Jefwood said.
“Signal them to send a flyer.”
“Aye, sir,” Jefwood called, and he ordered his signaler to send that message.
Picket frowned, then gazed out at the distant army approaching from the west. He could see them from the ground now, marching ahead in good order. The tall, terrible fighters of Terralain. He had seen them in action now more than once. He did not like the prospect of meeting them again this way.
Picket had hoped for so much more, but Kylen had made his decision clear. That fool would have so much to answer for. Picket recalled with a wince how he could have cut Kyle down in Smalls’ chamber so long ago. But I am no murderer, no matter what the Terralains say.
The messenger sent from the palace top glided in and landed not far from the command team. The lords and captains parted, and Harmon came through.
“Report,” Helmer demanded.
“Lord Captain,” Harmon began, then saluted, “enemy in sight, sir.”
“We know the enemy’s in sight, soldier,” Helmer snapped.
“Not them, sir,” Harmon said, nodding to the Terralain army. “Another enemy. A wolf army, sir. From out of the northeast. We had an R.F.A. patrol scout report back just now, sir. It’s a massive wolf army, sir, well-armed and coming fast.”
Helmer looked straight at Picket, wincing after a moment. Slowly, he looked back at the lords and other captains. “It’s King Farlock. We can only face and fight them. Let us show our soldiers courage. There is nothing else for it, now. It has been an honor to serve with you.”
The lords nodded and broke up, each heading back to their armies. Picket limped back toward his side of the Warrenguard, trying hard to show a brave face for the watching soldiers. Then, from his periphery, he saw another flyer gliding their way. He turned. Jo?
It wasn’t Jo. It was Emma, wearing a long hooded black robe that rippled in the wind. She landed smoothly, and Picket crossed to reach her first. “Emma, what are you doing here? It’s about to get very, very bad down here.”
“I know that, Captain,” she replied, hurrying toward Helmer.
“Emma, you can’t stay here.”
She shrugged him off, hurrying forward, her feet poking out of the long robe with each step. When she reached the command team, each lord and captain bent to bow. “My lords and captains, and Lord Captain Helmer, we have received an additional warning.”
“We heard, Your Highness,” Helmer said, “King Farlock’s wolf army is nearly upon us. Which is why, perhaps, you should—”
“Not that warning,” Emma said, looking down. “There is another.”
Picket stepped closer as Emma continued. “The first wave of Preylord raptors has embarked from north of Grey Grove. They will be here soon. The end is here.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE TERRALAINS ATTACK
Picket staggered back, his knee buckling as he tried to recover. The Terralain army was in sight, just ahead, marching on First Warren from the west. The legendary king of the wolves, Farlock, was bringing his terrible army down from the north. From the northeast, the Lords of Prey, led by the first of the six raptor kings, were launching their attack.
“Leave, Emma,” Picket said urgently, getting close to her ear. “You have to go. We’ll need some kind of remnant rabbits in hiding after this. Some small group with you as their leader to help pick up the pieces and start again after … after what’s about to happen.”
“I’m not leaving,” Emma said, jaw set.
“Your Highness,” Helmer said, coming close. “Please consider leaving with a few loyal courtiers to escort you.”
“Please,” Lord Booker said, laying his hand on her arm. “Emma, go. I beg you.”
“Would you go?” Emma snapped. Lord Booker lowered his head. “Would any of you go?” They all looked down.
“Then neither will I go into hiding. We go on. All of us, together.”
“Yes, Your Highness. We will abide by your decision,” Helmer said, bowing. “Harmon, please escort the princess back to the palace command center.”
“No,” Emma said. “I’m staying here.”
“At least fall back to the palace, Emma,” Picket said. “We can’t protect you here.”
“Who’s protecting you, Picket?” she asked.
“It’s not the same. I’m not the heir.”
“I know it. I do.” She got so close to Picket that her whispered words could only be heard by him. “I also know that we’re all going to die here today. All of us. Please let me die up here with you, with those I love most, and not back there … at the end. Not when all’s over. I can do some good up here. Back there, I can only wait for the end. I want to speak to these brave soldiers—to do all I can for them and to stand beside them as they go into this, our last battle.”
“Okay, Emma,” Picket said, bending to bow. “I am yours to command.”
Emma sniffed, wiped at her eyes, then turned to the commanders. She threw back her hood and cast off her black robe, revealing a white gown with a silver breastplate fastened over it. On her head gleamed a silver crown. “May I borrow your sword, Picket?”
Astonished, he handed her his sword. She took it and walked toward the wall, Helmer and Frye following close after her, with the lords not far behind. She ran up several flights of stairs, ending on a landing that commanded a view of the Warrenguard and a significant portion of the rest of the army. The Highwallers crowded the wall and leaned down to listen. When they saw her mount the landing, a cheer began, then rose.
They don’t know what’s coming yet, Picket thought.
After receiving their cheers and applause for a moment, she held up her hand, and the crowd of soldiers grew quiet. “Brothers, the time has come to fight. I call you brothers because today I am more than your princess; I am your sister. I appear to be only this feeble doe, but inside I have the heart of a warrior king. And I will, rather than surrender to these bloodthirsty tyrants and kinslaying traitors, take up the sword. The fight is coming, and from many foes on many fronts. But I am with you. Fight on! I will never sue for terms of surrender or seek a token place in the enemy’s evil order. I would rather go down and die, fighting for an entirely new order. And so would all of you. I am a healer, as you know. I mean with everything in me to save life. I will serve among you as a simple medic, bearing my sword where I must and saving some of you if I can. That is always my heart. But today I fight beside you. In our hands lies the hope of rabbitkind. Let nothing keep you from doing your duty; and know that I am beside you.” She raised Picket’s sword with her left hand and placed her right hand over her heart. The army knelt. “My place beside you, my blood for yours. Till the Green Ember rises …” she looked out and saw what looked like storm clouds in the east, “… or the end of the world.”