by S D Smith
To the east, Uncle Wilfred and the Warrenguard fought hard in the gap that had opened in the wall. The bridge they had built, making a wide passage from the east wall to the city center, was crammed with rabbits advancing on the attackers, bent on holding them off. The old east gate was breached again, and Uncle Wilfred’s elite soldiers battled with a host of wolves so numerous it dwarfed even King Farlock’s forces.
To the west, the Terralain army, alongside the Blackstone army, was still fighting beside Lake Merle. Farlock’s northern wolves, though kingless, were gaining again with help from the newly arrived Preylord cover. And they were slowly making up ground, fighting their way back to the west gate. The balance was breaking heavily for the Preylords and their wolf allies. The rabbits were mere moments away from being crushed in an unstoppable landslide on all sides.
Turning back to the signal office, Picket saw Warken arguing with the signal officer. The Blackhawk Option was supposed to be reserved for Morbin’s arrival, and the signal officer was balking. Picket rushed over and shouted at the officer. “Follow orders! Send it, now!”
The signal was sent, and Picket turned to see if the wall’s signal office would reply and pass the signal on. But there was no response. They were too occupied with the fight, and it seemed likely their signal corps might be disabled, or worse.
“Come on, Jo,” Picket said, snapping his glider rods in place and fitting his wrists in their holds. As a soldier ran up to check his pack, he leapt from the backside of the roof. Jo raced behind him, and they flew over the forces fighting along the east wall. The bridge was holding, and Uncle Wilfred was rotating soldiers around to the gate, pushing the wolf army back.
Their prisoner from Harbone had given them details about the attack, and they had prepared accordingly, even pretending to lose the prisoner in order that he could carry back flawed intelligence to influence where and how their foes should attack. They had expected this wolf attack in the east, and the previous one in the west. They expected another wolf army to attack by sea at any time, but they couldn’t worry about that now. Terralain showing up had shifted the battle plan, and they still had a ground force solution in play. But their plan had counted on being able to take out the first few waves of raptors with their bowstrikers.
That had not happened. At least, not nearly so well as they had hoped.
Picket and Jo soared over the east wall and banked left, dropping low over the secret battle burrow poised just on the eastern shore of Lake Merle.
“Rouse out! White Falcon!” Picket cried as they swept low to the ground. The two flyers swept up and, noticed by the Preylord attackers, turned again, banking back toward the hidden team. Fearing their message had not been heard, they flew toward the hidden battle burrow once again. But just as they began to swoop down, the dirt shook loose, boards were cast aside, and a bowstriker emerged from a hidden hollow in the earth. Picket and Jo banked hard left, pushing away from the city and out over the long lake.
The battle burrow’s hidden assets emerged into view, with several bucks operating the bowstriker. Wolves from the east gate attack broke off and sped toward the isolated fighters, and Preylords bore down on them from the main assault near the dam. But the bucks were working to arm and aim their asset. Ignoring the targets all around, they fired at the unsuspecting commander of the attack.
Falcowitson.
The white falcon turned in time to see the speeding blastarrow just as it reached him.
Boom!
Chapter Forty-Three
MEETINGS AND REUNIONS
Jo Shanks banked back and headed for the palace, following Picket’s path. Many birds of prey faltered as Falcowitson’s pale feathers scattered over the dam wall in the wake of the fantastic explosion. The defenders, so hard pressed in this battle, now gave back to their attackers with vigor. More birds fell, and many fled as a roar emerged from the defenders on the wall. Jo rejoiced to see many of his friends shouting defiantly from the ravaged wall top.
The wolf battle on the edge of Lake Merle raged on with Terralain soldiers locked in intense combat with fallen King Farlock’s vengeful army. He could not tell which way it would go. He longed to rejoin those brave fighters alongside Prince Naylen.
Jo glanced left. The Warrenguard, with Wilfred Longtreader at their head, were now pushing back the wolf invaders at the east gate. With their raptor support lost, at least for the moment, the wolves gave up ground. Still, the number of wolves pressing the gate was astonishing. They would break through. It was just a matter of time.
Sweeping in for a landing amid a busy palace rooftop, he found Emma alongside Helmer. Kylen stood nearby, looking fretful and worn.
“Are you okay, Jo?” Emma asked, offering him a waterskin. He took it gratefully.
“He looks fine,” Helmer said, frowning. “What’s the situation near the dam? Is the alcove secure?”
“Give him a second to breathe, Lord Captain,” Emma said, making him drink.
Picket landed, breathing hard. “The alcove is secure, though we didn’t spend a long time staring at it, of course. The Warrenguard is relieved by the Preylord’s setback—”
“Some setback,” Emma said, shaking her head. “Go on.”
“The east gate seems certain to hold for a while longer.”
“And the west?” Kylen asked, stepping closer. “Could you see them?”
“It’s balanced,” Jo said, wiping his mouth. “It could go either way.”
“I have to get back down there,” Kylen said. “My brother …”
“I understand,” Emma said, nodding. “Do you feel strong enough?”
“I do. I took the physic from the Pilgrim’s herbmaster. I’ve rested here. I’m ready.”
“The Pilgrim’s herbmaster?” Emma asked. “Pilgrim? Who is that?”
“You don’t know?” Kylen asked. “I thought you must know.”
“Know what?”
Just then, a crowd parted near the stairs, and Lord Blackstar led an old doe, elegant in a long dress, her fur black and silver, toward Emma.
“Mother?” Emma asked, wide eyes suddenly shining.
Lady Glen held out her arms. Emma rushed to embrace her mother, and the Pilgrim’s band emerged behind the Queen Mother and her daughter. Lord Blackstar came, and Heyna automatically drew near to Emma, scanning the busy rooftop with concern.
“Pilgrim,” Jo said, as the old traveler walked up, “may I introduce Picket Longtreader and our commander, the lord captain?”
“I am honored,” the Pilgrim said, bowing to both in turn. He shook Helmer’s hand and smiled at him with his head cocked sideways. “Helmer, is it?”
“It is, sir,” Helmer said, clearly feeling what Jo had felt—still felt—from the Pilgrim’s presence. The Pilgrim exuded serenity, seemed at ease in every movement, though he was obviously old. His eyes seemed older still but somehow wonderfully alive with an ageless grace. “Have we met before, my lord?” Helmer asked.
The Pilgrim grinned. “I’m no lord, Helmer there. And no, we haven’t ever met. But you remind me of an old friend.”
“Have you traveled far, sir?” Picket asked. “Can we get you anything?”
“We have, sure,” the Pilgrim said, smiling back at his band, “but we need nothing now. We are pleased to be here in this fight with you, and”—this while bowing to Helmer—“Lord Captain, I would like to formally volunteer for whatever errand seems best to you to help in the defense of our ancient capitol.”
Kylen stepped into the group, saluting Helmer. “Lord Captain, might these brave bucks accompany me back to the field to fight alongside my brother?”
Helmer looked over at the Pilgrim, who nodded. “We would be delighted to fight alongside the prince. We have worked together before.”
“They helped us rescue Kylen,” Jo said.
Helmer nodded. “We must hold that line and win that battle. I can think of nothing better than to reinforce our Terralain allies with such fighters as you appear to be.”
“May I go with them?” Jo asked, feeling an eagerness to be with the Pilgrim he couldn’t explain.
“Yes, Jo,” Helmer said. “But meet us at the appointed time before the alcove. Your arrows might buy us some time if it doesn’t go as planned. And I don’t want Picket out there alone.”
“Yes, sir,” Jo said, saluting. He gathered a fresh pack of arrows and handed the Pilgrim’s band more. They added these to what they had, and it was then that Jo noticed the Pilgrim’s quiver. It seemed ancient and was packed tight with black arrows. The Pilgrim alone took no extra arrows for his quiver.
They passed Emma, bowing as she and her mother spoke quickly back and forth. Mrs. Weaver had joined them, and the reunion of old friends was sweet, though brief. Mrs. Weaver returned to the stairway top as Lady Glen and Emma joined Helmer and Picket. Jo waited for the Pilgrim’s band to descend and took Mrs. Weaver’s extended hand. Her eyes were wet and her face kind.
“Dear Jo,” she said, “what a day this may be.”
“It’s the end, Mrs. Weaver.”
“Maybe it’s the beginning.”
She motioned for him to follow behind the odd band, and he hurried down the stairs.
Chapter Forty-Four
THE ARCHER AND THE PILGRIM
Jo led the way out of the palace and across the old city. They jogged, with Kylen and the Pilgrim on Jo’s heels as the party advanced. Jo glanced right to the dam wall, saw that the small alcove on which so much of their hope rested was still secure, and hurried on.
They passed a broken building, one of many damaged in the last attack. Rabbits ran through the streets with urgent messages, rejoining lost forces or transporting the wounded back toward the palace or one of the other hospitals. Jo grimaced at the injuries but jogged on toward the west gate.
Seeing that Kylen was growing tired, Jo slowed and called for a halt.
“A quick break, if that’s all right?” Jo asked.
“By all means,” the Pilgrim replied, stopping to drink from a waterskin.
Jo eyed an obliterated building, with only one long stone wall standing against mostly shattered adjoining walls. The charred inside stank of soot and death.
“What will you do when the war’s over?” Kylen asked. The Pilgrim nodded to Jo.
“Probably rebel and try to start my own rival kingdom,” Jo said, then shrugged to Kylen. “Sorry, might be a little soon for that one.”
Kylen laughed and shook his head. “I like you, Shanks. You remind me of me—well, me a long time ago.”
“That’s pretty insulting,” Jo said, “but I’ve heard worse.”
The Pilgrim laughed, and Kylen smiled at Jo.
“Tameth Seer would have killed you for that,” Kylen said.
“Yeah, but he wasn’t very good at killing, obviously,” Jo replied, nodding back at Kylen.
“Your note, Jo. It saved me, I think.”
“Note?” the Pilgrim asked.
“Yes, Jo left me a note when he paid an unannounced visit to my camp.”
“What did the note say?” the Pilgrim asked.
“That’s not really important,” Jo began. “We’d better get moving—”
“It said,” Kylen broke in, “‘Dear Kyle, You are the great nitwit of the world. Love, Jo Shanks.’”
The Pilgrim whistled. “It has a certain style.”
“It got straight to the point, I’m sure,” Kylen agreed, chuckling.
“I was on a tight schedule,” Jo said. “Kylen’s killers were trying to kill me, and so were his protectors.”
“Sounds like a busy night,” the Pilgrim said.
“Almost getting killed is stressful,” Kylen said, wiping his eyes. “I feel like I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“We have so much in common,” Jo said as they resumed their march. The Pilgrim grinned and shook his head.
Screaming. Close by. Urgent.
Jo pivoted back, an arrow already drawn and nocked.
The Pilgrim’s band fanned out as another scream came. “Whereaway?” the Pilgrim asked, eyes squinted as he scanned around.
Jo started to speak, but the Pilgrim silenced him with a swift motion of his hand. They both looked right to find that one of the band had scampered wide and was now turned toward them, sending hand signals back. Two fingers pointed up with thumbs crossed, then a stiff open hand aimed at the spot where the sound came.
More screams and a howling sounded. Jo stepped toward the sound, which came from the other side of the burned-out building before them. The Pilgrim’s bow was off his shoulder and a black arrow set to its string. He closed his eyes, listened intently, then mumbled, “Half speed,” and released his arrow straight at the building’s wall.
Jo gazed in amazement as the black arrow flew into the thick stone wall, breaking through in a spray of grey dust. A whining howl followed, then silence.
Jo stared open-mouthed at the archer, who calmly hung his bow over his shoulder again.
“Good … shot?” Jo said.
“If that’s a question, Jo,” the Pilgrim replied, “then the answer is yes. Yes, it was. Not my best, but I think he’s dead. Unlike Tameth Seer, I am fairly good at it.”
“Clearly,” Kylen said. “Let’s get you out there against those wolves, relieving my brother.”
“I am with you,” the Pilgrim said.
They jogged on until they came near the gate, where frightened cries sounded from the ramparts of the wall above and several rooftops.
“What’s the word?” Jo called up the devastated wall. Smoke curled into the sky, and an odd silence settled.
“Preylord swarm spotted,” a soldier, voice panicked and ragged, called down. “Twice the size at least of the last.”
“I want to have a look,” Jo said, turning back to the group. “Something’s not right up there.”
“I’m going on,” Kylen said. “I have to find my brother and help where I can in this war.”
“Go with him, friends,” the Pilgrim said, and his band followed Kyle out the west gate and toward the Terralain battle.
Jo hurried to the stairs, the Pilgrim running behind him with no apparent difficulty, despite his age. Glancing back, Jo assumed the Pilgrim was quite a bit older than Helmer. But he ran like a young buck. They reached the last steps and emerged onto the platform. What a change. The wall top was lined with shattered assets, pieces of bowstrikers and catapults clotted the way, and wounded Highwallers leaned against the parapets while too few medics tried to save some.
“Who’s in charge here?” Jo shouted.
“I am,” a familiar voice said. Jo hurried ahead, finding Nate Flynn was being treated not five yards away. One side of his face was burned and bleeding, his eye on that side destroyed. His arm and shirt were torn terribly on that side as well. “What’s the good word, Jo?”
“They’re coming again, Nate,” Jo said, bending to give his friend water. The Pilgrim silently helped the medics nearby care for other wounded bucks.
“I know,” Nate replied, tears in his eyes. “And we’ll knock ‘em back again.”
“You have to go below, Nate,” Jo said. “Where are Owen and Studge?”
“I don’t know where Owen or Studge are, Jo. But I know this. I’m not going anywhere till this war’s over, or I’m dead. This is what it’s all been for. I have trained for this day my entire life. Don’t dare tell me to leave my post.” He rose, unsteadily, and stretched his cruelly marred arm, wincing as the tears flowed.
“Here’s your bow, soldier,” the Pilgrim said, handing Nate his weapon. “Aim at their eyes.”
“Who are you?” Nate asked.
“Just an old archer,” the Pilgrim said, laying a gentle hand on Nate’s neck. “Now lean here, son.” The old buck guided Nate to a place on the wall where he could lean and watch. “And take your shot when it comes.”
Jo’s eyes filled with tears, and he hurried ahead, dodging through wrecked wood and shattered rock, scanning for an officer. He glanced
at the approaching swarm and made out two massive raptors at the head of the attack. They bore huge spears and wore crowned helms on their heads.
“Is there an officer in charge?” Jo called, panic welling.
“Aye, sir,” a husky voice called. “I’m Lieutenant Meeker, sir.”
“Meeker,” Jo said, “I’m sorry. I had no idea it was so bad up here.”
“I’m doing my best, sir. Most of the archers are dead, and all the catapults are destroyed. No bowstrikers. We don’t have much left to fight with.”
“They’re coming, you know?”
“Aye, sir. I do. I guess this is the end. Is the princess secure?”
“She’s fine.”
“Good. I’m doing my best here, sir. We won’t let the lord captain down.”
“I know it.”
“Jo,” the Pilgrim said, eyes on the coming raptor throng, “follow me.”
Jo saluted Meeker and darted after the old buck, who ran with incredible agility. Jo was winded by the time they made it all the way around to the edge of the wall where it began to form the dam. Jo peeked at the covered alcove below, then followed the Pilgrim into what was left of the old wolf barracks. It still stank of the pack but now bore signs of the rabbit defenses, though those were broken and scattered throughout. Up they clambered, until they reached the top of the barracks. Climbing onto the roof—the part that was still intact—they scanned the approaching horde.
“If we can take the two leaders out,” the Pilgrim said, passing Jo one of his black shafts, “I think we have a chance.”
“Agreed.” Jo examined the arrow back to front, and at first he didn’t see anything different about it. Then, reaching the arrowhead, he saw the black carved rock that sparkled. He was surprised it was no heavier than a normal arrow.