It was a tight fit, and Posy was more than a little uncomfortable. Alvar loaded them in, pushing two bags in after them.
“Your food,” he explained. Posy wondered if he had thought of it himself or if Kyran had given him money to buy it the previous night. He also tucked a blanket over the top of them, “In case the manure seeps through,” he told them. Posy tried not to gag.
“Hep,” called Alvar to the horses and with that they were off to the Borders, the forest of the Wild Land, and, Posy thought grimly, most certain danger. Posy had noticed one of the two horses hitched to the cart was Belenus, Kyran’s blue-black gelding. She supposed Alvar was going to unhitch him when they got safely to the forest, then take his own lone horse back with him. Posy gave an involuntary shiver. They were trusting much to the soldiers’ inattention.
Within fifteen minutes, they had reached the encampment of soldiers. Kyran whispered into Posy’s ear, and she felt his breath blow a wisp of her hair against her cheek. “Do you think you could see out of the slats on your side of the cart, Posy?” he asked. “I am turned the wrong direction and am wedged so tightly I don’t think I can move.”
Posy couldn’t move either, but she could tilt her head sideways, just enough to place her eye even with a space between the boards of the wagon. She had a narrow view of the soldiers they were approaching. The noises of the camp surrounded them now, the clank of metal, the occasional rough shout of orders or the hoot of an owl. Posy squinted through the boards. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for.
Then her body stiffened. She and Kyran lay so close he knew something was wrong right away. “What is it?” His tone was sharp and alert.
Posy swallowed with difficulty and whispered hoarsely, “It’s Falak. He’s here!”
Silence for a moment, then, “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” she answered, certain indeed. He was perched on the hilt of a sword that had been thrust into the ground, overlooking the activity with wide yellow eyes. “Why is he here? What is he doing? Has he followed us, do you think? He told us he couldn’t come with us—he had things to do at the castle.”
“He lied,” said Kyran shortly.
“Well, he knows we are near, at least. He knew we were in the village this morning—that’s where he sent the note. And now here he is, almost like he’s waiting for us.” Posy heard the panic in her voice. She found herself remembering the malicious look on Falak’s face as they rode away from the castle. She hadn’t imagined it, had she? No, she did not trust him now. Suddenly, the small space seemed unbearable, and she fought the urge to begin squirming.
Posy turned her head again and peered out into the crowd of soldiers as Alvar steered the wagon slowly toward the forest edge. He had tried to take a path on the outer edge of the camp, but he was still close enough to draw attention. He had not yet been challenged, but Posy saw that men were starting to give them questioning glances. Even if they weren’t concerned about what he was doing, thought Posy, they couldn’t possibly miss the way this wagon load smelled. If only they could get past Falak!
That’s when the shout came.
“You there!” one of the commanding officers demanded, breaking through a small group of soldiers. “What do you think you’re doing, bringing all that filth into our camp?”
“If you please, sir,” said Alvar calmly. “King Melanthius himself has decreed that we are allowed to dispose of our waste just beyond the Border. I am merely taking a load there now. It will take no more than a few minutes, I promise you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” the commander said, shaking his head once. “The king might have decreed it at one time, but that is over now. No one crosses the Border, coming or going. Don’t you know we will soon be at war with the Wild Folk?”
“I have heard as much,” Alvar conceded. “But what am I to do with my wagon load? Dump it in my own yard?”
“Why, yes, for all I care,” the commander said with a cold laugh. “Now away with you. I believe we have a reader, and every last character is needed for preparations.”
“No, no,” said a voice, smooth as glass. With a flap of wings, Posy and Kyran heard Falak approach.
“There is no reader,” said Falak, “not anymore. The princess’ performance was very poor, and I think she bored our poor reader to tears! I hope most sincerely that will never happen again.” His voice sounded very pointed, and Posy suddenly thought, He knows we are here. He knows, and he is speaking to us.
“Now what do we have here?” came the owl’s dispassionate voice as he surveyed Alvar and his load. The commander briefly explained, and Falak said offhandedly, “Well, I suppose it won’t hurt to let one through. After all, he has made the trip from the village, and it would be a pity to send him all the way back without having accomplished his errand.”
“But, Councilor ...” the commander began, but Falak silenced him with a shake of his feathers and a dark stare. “As you say,” the man finished shortly and moved aside for Alvar’s wagon to lumber by.
“He has let us through,” Posy said softly to Kyran. “He knew we were here, hidden—I know he did. And he is letting us through.”
To her surprise, Kyran said nothing for a long time. She turned to look at him, their faces inches apart. Bars of light moved across his face through the wagon sides, but his eyes glinted in the dark. Posy knew the look in those eyes; she had seen it only once before, when Kyran had spoken of war. His dark eyes were hard and far away, resolve written in the set of his jaw. She didn’t know what it meant, what he was thinking, but when she opened her mouth to ask him, the wagon jolted to a halt. They were in the forest of the Wild Land.
* * *
“All right now,” called Alvar as quietly as his forceful voice could manage. “We are in the clear.” They heard him make his way off his seat and then heard the scratching of the latch on the belly of the wagon as he unhitched the trap door underneath them. “Watch yourselves, now,” he said just a moment before they both tumbled out of the wagon and onto the damp layer of leaves that covered the forest floor.
Kyran grasped Posy’s hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed leaves off her dress and cloak while Kyran and Alvar went to work unhitching Belenus. They worked swiftly and didn’t say a word. Posy looked about her, amazed at how dark it was within the thick trees of the forest, when they had just come from a sunny field minutes ago. Posy saw that Kyran was gazing about them into the shadowy trees, the muscles in his body taut and his eyes sharp.
“What is it?” she moved nearer to him.
He only answered her with a short shake of his head. His gaze had centered on a spot some distance from them, the place through which they had just driven the wagon. A second later, he shoved her roughly behind him as his voice came harshly in her ear, “Stay behind the wagon. Take Belenus and run if the worst happens.” Then the quick scrape of his sword as he unsheathed it and motioned to Alvar, who was already there beside him, a knife in each of his large hands—surely a sight to frighten anyone.
Then she saw what they had already seen. Two soldiers were making their leisurely way toward them through the trees. But their nonchalance didn’t fool Posy for a second; she saw the deadly intent in their eyes even from a distance. Stay calm, stay calm, she told herself as she gripped the sides of the wagon until her knuckles were white; you are in a book, you can’t die—can you? But she wasn’t in the book anymore, she was not in the Plot. They were beyond the Borders now, and she didn’t know what rules held sway here.
Without a word, the two soldiers drew their swords. When they were within range, they didn’t waste a moment, but lunged into attack, so swiftly that Posy let out a short scream. But the soldiers had met their match. Kyran, as the prince, had been trained to fight, and Posy saw quickly, with an odd breathless feeling, that he probably could have taken on both soldiers alone. Alvar made up in power for what he lacked in technique, the muscles of his arms bulging, his lip curled in a snarl. They circled and struck, parried and slashed,
until Posy became dizzy.
I’m being the stupid girl, she thought suddenly, thinking of stories and movies she and Lily had always talked and laughed about. The stupid girl who hides and screams and waits for the men to fight. Well, what if they fight, and don’t win? Hiding and screaming won’t do me much good then.
But she didn’t know what else to do. She was terrified; she had to admit it, no matter how she hated the principle of the situation. And she had no weapon, even if she had wanted to fight. Her eyes focused in front of her, instead of beyond, at the wagon and the manure. Well, it was something, wasn’t it? Too scared to be disgusted, she thrust her hand into the dung and came up with a large solid clod of it. She lobbed it as hard and as straight as she could into the face of one of the men as he pressed Kyran back toward the wagon. Surprised, he took a step back—for a moment his eyes had closed in an instinctive reaction. With dizzying swiftness, Kyran took advantage of the moment, and in a few more, he and Alvar had both soldiers pinned to the ground, sword and knife at their throats.
Kyran’s voice came low and threatening, straight to the point. “Who sent you?”
One of the soldiers, who looked to be the same age as Kyran, glared into the prince’s face and remained stubbornly silent. The older one spat into Kyran’s face and sneered, his upper lip curling to reveal a mouth of yellowed teeth. Kyran grunted angrily and bore down with his sword, drawing a faint line of blood along the man’s neck. “I suppose,” Kyran said, “that not answering my question is worth your life, you think? It’s so important, then, this information? Or are you just a character, with no mind of your own, following orders blindly?” He waited a moment and then snarled into the soldier’s face, “I said who sent you?”
But it was the young soldier who spoke. “I will tell you,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously under Alvar’s knife point. “If you will let us go, without harm.”
Kyran nodded slowly. “Tell me,” he said.
“It was the Head Councilor, master Falak,” said the boy, squirming and looking about him as if he thought Falak would fly from overhead and strike him down.
Posy felt her stomach drop and found herself shaking her head in disbelief, eyes wide. Falak. The very one who had sent them on this journey. And now he was trying to kill them. Even if she had thought the owl was untrustworthy, she never would have guessed at this sort of treachery. She couldn’t see Kyran’s face, for his back was turned toward her, but she knew him well enough by now to recognize by the stiffening of his back that he was as shocked and enraged as she.
“Very well,” he said at last, rising to his feet, the tip of his sword held solidly against the man’s chest. The soldiers stood as well, and Alvar adeptly relieved them of their weapons. “Did your master give you a reason for killing us in cold blood?” said Kyran. “Or do you follow such morbid orders as these without knowing the reason?”
“You are traitors to the kingdom,” growled the older soldier.
“Oh, I see,” said Kyran. “How so?”
This question seemed to stump him for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “If Falak says you are, you are. Who am I to question? He is the right hand of King Melanthius himself.”
Kyran took a step toward the man and said softly, “And do you know who I am?” He waited until both men were looking at him in nervous expectation. “I am the son of King Melanthius himself, that’s who I am.”
The young soldier blanched, and Posy thought his eyes would pop out of their sockets. “Y-you? The prince? B-but, why are you here? And ... and why would Falak try to ....”
“Kill me?” Kyran suggested helpfully. “Yes, I would like to know that myself. You both know we will be at war soon. Do either of you know why? It is only power, only selfishness on my father’s part, and Falak’s as well. They don’t care for you or for your families. But since you take orders from them, and have no thought for a better life, you had best get back to the encampment and tell your master we have escaped. He’ll be wanting to send another assassin after us, I suppose.”
“I’ll tell him we killed you,” the young soldier’s words tumbled out. “I’ll tell him you are all dead, and he won’t have a need to send anyone else. For he will send someone else, you are right. He is determined to kill you before you finish your quest.”
“Hush, fool.” This came from the older soldier as he shoved a rough elbow into the boy’s ribs.
The boy glared at the older man and said, “It would be to your benefit to let him think they are dead, as well. For if he learns that we have failed, it will be our necks. What other choice do we have?”
The soldier considered this for a moment. He didn’t make any movement of agreement, but he grimaced, and Posy could see he knew the boy spoke the truth. It seemed to Posy that his life was worth more to him than following Falak’s orders. She was glad of this, for his sake and for theirs.
“I thank you,” said Kyran ironically, with a slight bow of his dark head. “Now get back to the camp before reinforcements are sent.” He tossed them their weapons. “You will have to have these if you wish to convince him you killed us. I trust I won’t be seeing you again?”
“No, indeed,” the boy shook his head energetically.
As they walked away, back through the trees toward the encampment, Alvar called after them, “If you ever decide you want to fight for the common characters, and a free Plot, come and speak to Alvar in the village.”
“Alvar, you shouldn’t have!” Posy said anxiously. “If they know who you are, they may decide to turn you in to Falak or one of the other owls for rebellion!”
“I’m willing to take that chance, my lady,” Alvar said. “Two voices of soldiers who have doubts can be easily turned into hundreds, if they talk like I suspect soldiers do. And we could use some well-trained men for our army.”
Kyran nodded approval as he sheathed his sword. He then went to Alvar and grasped his shoulder. “I thank you, friend, for all your help. I’m truly indebted to you. As soon as my quest is finished I will come back to help you raise your army.”
“But ...” Alvar shifted uneasily. “You ... are you really the king’s son? Are you the prince Kyran?”
“Yes,” Kyran answered calmly, with a sigh. “I am the prince. That is how I know for certain that the way we are ruled is wrong, and that what we are choosing to do is right. I hope the fact that I am the king’s son doesn’t make you think differently of me, Alvar.”
“Not at all, Your Majesty—it was just a shock. I—I had no idea.” He ran his palm over his cropped flame of hair and shook his head. “Indeed,” he said quietly, “the Plot is changing before my eyes now.”
“So now you can raise your army in my name if you like; perhaps that will rally more soldiers for you,” said Kyran, thumping Alvar on the back. He pulled a great emerald ring off his first finger, the only one he wore, and placed it in Alvar’s great paw of a hand. “Use this as proof that I am behind you.” Alvar stared at it a moment, and Posy thought he might try to give it back, but he nodded and closed his great fingers over it, tears in his eyes. Kyran cleared his throat and turned to adjust his horse’s harness, but Posy ran over to Alvar and threw her arms around his middle. His muscles stiffened, and for a moment it felt as if Posy was hugging a boulder. Then his body softened, and he put a massive arm around her gingerly, as if afraid he would crush her, patting her shoulder lightly with his large hand.
“You saved our lives, Alvar,” she said, releasing him and tilting her head back to look up into his face. “I wish you luck and safety in raising an army. You have taken a great risk helping us, you know.”
“Oh, miss,” Alvar’s voice was gruff, “I’d do it a hundred times over if it won our cause, as I know you and the young prince would.”
“Now,” broke in Kyran’s voice matter-of-factly, “Alvar, you must get back to the village as quickly as you can. There’s no telling if Falak will swallow the story those soldiers are going to give him. Be safe, my friend. Your life
is changed now ... you will have to always be ready for danger.” He reached out a hand to shake Alvar’s and they exchanged a look of trust.
“And you.” Alvar grasped Kyran’s hand, and then nodded to Posy. He heaved the wagon up until the pile of manure spilled onto the ground, then jumped into the seat and flicked the reins. He headed into the forest, finally disappearing into the shadows. He would have to go a good distance to avoid going back through the encampment again. Now that Falak was to be told they had been killed, their original plan would not hold.
Kyran turned to Posy and raised an eyebrow. “Saved our lives, did he?” he asked. “Did I do such bad fighting, then, that I get no credit?”
“No!” Posy felt her face flush. “I meant that he saved us by smuggling us past the Borders, that’s all. Of course you fought well, Kyran—you know that.”
“Mmm,” Kyran nodded, his dark lashes flashing over his eyes as he looked down, busying himself with their saddlebags. “I suppose I will have to find a way to save your life, then, if such an embrace is to be the reward for it.”
Posy stared at his back for a moment in astonishment, and then turned quickly away, her face burning.
CHAPTER NINE
The Wild Land
So now to decide if everything Falak had told them was untrue.
“He is the true power in the kingdom, not my father,” pointed out Kyran as they rode through the forest. “I believe he would like nothing better than to be the only councilor my father ever listened to. I believe he’s not far from that goal now ... that is, if it weren’t for my mother. She is a force to reckon with.” Kyran’s expression was wry.
“And there is one more tiny thing you are forgetting,” Posy said wryly. “He tried to have us murdered in cold blood. There’s always that, if nothing else convinces you he’s bad news.”
The corner of Kyran’s mouth quirked as he threw her a look. “Yes, there’s always that. I suppose that doesn’t leave any room at all for trust, does it?”
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