Rollan flapped a hand at him. “That kind of wave?”
Conor laughed. “No, the watery kind.”
“A prophetic dream?” Rollan asked.
“I’m not sure.” Conor shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”
They kept to the side of the road, on a boarded sidewalk, until they came to the store that Rollan knew belonged to Monte, a Greencloak they’d met when they had come to Amaya in search of Arax the Ram. Monte and his partner, Barlow, had run a trading post in Boulder City, a remote village. Barlow had been killed in a fight against the Conquerors, who had tried to take the Granite Ram talisman. Later in the war, Monte had fought with the Greencloaks against the Conquerors in Stetriol. When that battle had ended in victory, the man had returned to Amaya to set up a new store in Concorba.
Rollan had been looking forward to seeing bald, cheerful Monte, still telling jokes and selling supplies to travelers, but the front door of the store was locked, the windows shuttered.
“Won’t find him here,” a dry voice said.
Rollan and Conor turned to see an old man dressed all in brown rags sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, his bare feet in the dust of the road.
“Where is he?” Rollan asked.
“Well, now, let me think. Hmm.” The old man held out a filthy hand, asking to be paid for the information.
With a sigh, Conor dug out some money—too much, Rollan noted—and gave it to him.
The old man eyed the coin. “Huh.” He fixed the two boys with a bloodshot eye. “Monte’s a friend of yours?”
“None of your business,” Rollan said, before Conor could say anything. He knew his friend wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of thing. “Where is he? Why is his shop closed up?”
The old man pursed his lips. “No need to get snippy, boy.” Then he shrugged. “Some guard types came. Arrested Monte, took him away. A couple days ago, that was.”
“Guard types,” Conor repeated. “Dressed in black? Wearing brass collars?”
“Yep.” The old man nodded enthusiastically. “Said they had orders from the Prime Minister of Amaya to arrest every Greencloak they could find. Would seem Monte is in big trouble.” His rheumy eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t know nothing about Greencloaks, would you? There’s a sweet reward out for information about them.”
“No,” Conor said hastily. “We don’t know anything about Greencloaks. We’ve, uh, never even met a Greencloak.” He gulped. “I’m not even sure we know what—”
“All right, thanks,” Rollan interrupted quickly, seizing Conor’s arm and pulling him toward the street before he could completely give them away. “Less is more, Conor,” Rollan said as they hurried across the road. When Conor gave him a blank look, Rollan explained. “If you’re lying, don’t explain too much. It’ll give you away every time.”
“I know,” Conor said, looking chagrined. “It just felt like he knew what we are. Do you think he suspected us?”
“Probably.” Rollan looked back over his shoulder. There was no one sitting in front of Monte’s store. Uh-oh. The old man had been suspicious, which meant he’d scurried away to tell somebody about the two boys asking after a Greencloak friend of theirs. It wouldn’t take long before that information reached the Oathbound.
They had to hurry.
And Rollan had to admit that his friends—and Worthy—had been right. If they’d been wearing their cloaks, they would have been arrested already.
Moving fast, they found another store that sold supplies for traveling. The storekeeper seemed very curious, asking them where they were headed. When Conor started to answer truthfully, Rollan elbowed him in the side to silence him. He lied, saying they were heading for the coast to go fishing.
They came out of the store loaded with supplies—a full pack slung over each shoulder and their arms full. Staggering, they headed for the poorer section of the city. Dust swirled around their feet as they made their way down a narrow street, where the houses were little more than huts, and skinny dogs growled at them before skittering away.
Seeing a few familiar faces, Rollan nodded, returning their greetings. He’d grown up here, after all. People were bound to recognize him as one of the Heroes of Erdas. “This is not good,” he said to Conor through clenched teeth. “A lot of these people know that I’m a Greencloak.”
“Maybe we should get out of the city,” Conor said worriedly.
“One more stop,” Rollan said. “It won’t take long.”
“Where are we going?” Conor asked.
“Just down this street.” A few months ago he’d gotten a letter from his mother describing what she’d been doing ever since the end of the Second Devourer War. “My mother opened a school. It should be just around this corner.”
Conor blinked. He’d met Aidana, so Rollan knew how surprising this information was. “A school?”
“Yeah.” Rollan took a few more steps, and then he stopped. “Look, you know that I was a street kid here for a long time. When my mom abandoned me, she did it because she couldn’t take care of me. She had the bond sickness. She thought I’d be better off without her.”
Conor nodded solemnly.
It was hard to talk about this stuff, but Rollan made himself go on. “I know she felt guilty about it for a long time.” He pointed down the street toward a big building made of hard-packed adobe bricks. “She didn’t get the chance to help me, so now she’s trying to help other street kids. She opened up this free school.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’ll have some useful information.”
“And you get a chance to see her,” Conor said.
“Yeah, that too,” Rollan admitted.
They dumped the heavy bags of supplies on a porch in front of the school. Just before they stepped inside, Rollan paused. “Go ahead. I just have to do something.”
Conor nodded and went inside.
Quickly, Rollan dug into a small satchel at his side and pulled out his cloak. It had been less ragged and faded many months ago, when he and Tarik had been trapped by the Conquerors and only Rollan had been able to escape through a space too small for Tarik to fit into. As Tarik sent Rollan to safety, he’d smiled when his own green cloak settled over the boy. Shortly after Tarik’s sacrifice, Rollan had taken his vows and had become a true Greencloak, united in purpose with his friends for the first time.
Rollan would never forget the pain of saying good-bye to the man who had become like a father to him. Even if he and his friends had to sneak around, he wouldn’t leave Tarik’s cloak behind. He stuffed it deep into the bottom of one of the sacks full of supplies. Then he followed Conor into the school.
As he stepped from the bright, sunny outdoors into the dimness of the schoolroom, all the students in the class stared at him. They sat on rows of benches, separated by a center aisle. Each kid held a notebook and pencil. Conor was already sitting down on one of the benches, as if he was one of the students.
And then Rollan saw his mother. She was standing at the front of the room, facing a wall painted black, writing some numbers with a piece of chalk. Her hair was a long black braid hanging straight down her back.
His mother, teaching math. He’d seen some strange things in his life, but this was possibly the strangest.
“Pssst,” whispered a nearby kid. She poked his leg with a sharp finger. She was Niloan and had intricately braided hair and wore a sand-colored robe. “You better sit down, or you’re going to be in trouble.” She scooted over, giving Rollan room to sit on the bench beside her. “I’m Ngozi,” she added.
“Your teacher’s pretty tough?” Rollan whispered to Ngozi.
As she nodded, another girl, Amayan by the looks of her, leaned in and gave them both a stern look. “Our teacher,” she said sharply, “is wonderful.”
“Why’s that?” Rollan asked, trying not to smile.
“I love, love, love math,” she answered. “And Miss Aidana is a very good math teacher.” This girl wore neat, colorful clothes and had long black hair, which, probably not b
y coincidence, she’d braided in the same style as his mother.
Ngozi rolled her eyes. “That’s Sora.”
“How did you find her school?” Rollan whispered.
“She found us,” Ngozi began, “because we’re—”
“Shhhhhh,” Sora hissed, glaring. “We’re not supposed to talk about that with”—she shot a knifelike glance at Rollan—“with strangers.”
Rollan grinned, then saw his mother turn away from the blackboard, saying something about the math lesson. Her eyes rested on him and she froze. The chalk fell from her fingers.
“Ohhhh, you’re in for it,” Ngozi whispered.
Rollan’s grin widened. “You have no idea,” he whispered back.
“We’ve been studying numbers,” his mother said loudly. “Specifically the number one.”
“Here it comes,” he said to Ngozi and Sora, and got to his feet.
His mother had her hands on her hips. “The number one,” she repeated. “Which is how many letters my son has sent to me in the last three months.”
All the kids were staring at him, wide-eyed.
Rollan couldn’t stop smiling. “We were traveling,” he told his mom.
She mock-glared at him. “No excuse.” She opened her arms, and he went down the central aisle to the front of the room, where she pulled him into a hug. Then she set him back and looked him over, a hand on his shoulder. With the tip of a finger, she traced the scar on his face that he’d gotten during the battle against the Wyrm. “You’ve grown taller,” she said softly.
She had a few more lines at the corners of her eyes. And she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
She cocked her head. “You said you were traveling.” A smile hovered at the corner of her mouth. “With that darling girl, Meilin?”
Rollan felt a blush prickling on his face. “Mo-om!” he protested.
“Miss Aidana,” shouted a tall, red-haired boy from the back of the room, interrupting them.
“Yes, Jean-Luc,” his mother said, without looking away from Rollan’s face.
“There’s a bunch of people wearing black clothes outside,” the boy said. “They have swords. And shiny collars.”
Conor stood up from the bench where he’d been sitting. His eyes met Rollan’s.
“Oathbound!” they said at the same time.
“You’re in trouble?” Rollan’s mother asked. Then she waved her hand. “Never mind. Of course you’re in trouble. Need to escape?” At Rollan’s nod, she pointed toward a door that opened from the back of the schoolroom. “Quick. This way.”
Conor raced down the center aisle; Rollan met him at the door, which his mother flung open. It opened onto an alley. A figure dressed in black was coming from the right.
Rollan paused to give his mother a quick hug good-bye.
“Write to me,” she said sternly, and pointed left. “That way. Run!”
Rollan and Conor went left, and the Oathbound came after them. They raced down the alley, bursting out into the area in front of the school with their pursuer on their heels.
Five more Oathbound were there, weapons drawn.
Frantically, Rollan glanced over his shoulder. The one from the alley was closing in from behind.
They were surrounded!
WORTHY GROANED.
Rollan and Conor. Greencloaks. Stupid. So stupid.
Of course the Oathbound knew about Rollan’s mother’s school. Even though Aidana wasn’t a Greencloak, it was well known that her son was. But the two idiots, loaded with supplies, had walked right up to her front door in broad daylight.
At least Worthy’d had time to get the supplies hidden in a nearby alley before the Oathbound had shown up.
Worthy had been following Rollan and Conor since they’d entered the city, hardly noticing the odd looks from passersby. Ever since he’d taken up the mask of a Redcloak, ever since he’d woken up one morning unable to summon his spirit animal, Elda, he’d gotten used to stares. And then his eyes had changed, and his hands ached as retractable claws replaced his fingernails, and he grew sleepless with the prowling intensity of the big cat. His hair had turned sleek and dark …
… and really, nobody needed to know about the tail.
Now was his chance to prove to Conor and the others that he was worthy enough to join them. If only he hadn’t made the stupid mistake about Rollan’s cloak. Abeke had explained where he’d gone wrong, how Rollan had been a street kid who’d come to see Tarik as a kind of father—and how Tarik had been killed right in front of Rollan, leaving the boy holding his green cloak.
So yeah, he could see why it was important.
He’d make up for his mistake. He’d get them all to trust him.
At least Abeke was talking to him. She was a hunter, but she was wise and kind, too. Meeting her now as an ally, Worthy could see why Shane had been in love with her. Whether he’d admitted it to himself or not.
The beautiful, terrifying Meilin, though. He’d keep his distance from that one. She could probably take him apart with her little finger. Scary. Brrr.
He wasn’t sure yet about the sharp, shy chameleon woman, Anka, though the Greencloaks seemed to trust her.
But for now, Worthy had to help the boys.
Crouching in an alley with the bags of supplies piled behind him, Worthy’s panther-aided senses were on full alert. The six Oathbound rushed into the area in front of the school. Their leader gestured, and one of them broke off, circling around the back of the building.
An ambush.
Worthy heard a shout, and then Rollan and Conor raced around the corner of the school and stopped short, seeing the five Oathbound waiting for them; the sixth was coming from behind. Rollan pulled out what looked like a little knife from his boot. But it wouldn’t be enough.
Good, Worthy thought.
The Oathbound closed in on the boys, brandishing their swords. Their leader, a tall, gaunt-faced man, was Marked. He had a huge black-feathered bird, a vulture maybe, riding on his shoulder.
Six adults, armed and well trained, versus two stupid kids who hadn’t even called forth their spirit animals yet. Worthy waited another moment, just so they’d know how much danger they were in before he heroically rescued them. Before going, he checked that his long panther tail, which sometimes liked to wave free when he got into a fight, was hidden away. All set.
Just as the Marked Oathbound was about to grab Rollan, there was a flash of light, and Essix appeared in full flight, shrieking and slashing with her sharp talons at the face of the attacker, who fell back, wailing loudly. Essix arced higher to gain altitude for a strike against the vulture, which had launched itself awkwardly from its perch. Rollan leaned back to let an Oathbound woman’s blade pass him by, then ducked and used a low kick to sweep her legs out from under her.
A move he’d learned from the terrifying Meilin, no doubt.
The woman scrambled away from Rollan, then got to her feet and fled down the street.
At the same moment, Conor called forth Briggan, who leaped from his arm, teeth bared, and knocked an attacking Oathbound to the ground; a quick bite to the shoulder and the man was writhing in the dust, moaning. Meanwhile, Conor caught the knife Rollan had tossed to him. He ducked a sword thrust from another one of the Oathbound.
What had been two versus six was already two versus three, and Conor was attacking, using the speed and agility he gained by Briggan being in his active state.
Whoops, Worthy thought. Better get in there and be a hero quick, before the Greencloak boys rescued themselves.
Feeling ridiculously gleeful, Worthy burst from his hiding place. One pantherlike leap, and he was close enough to the fight to rake his retractable claws down the arm of an Oathbound. Then he spun into a jump that took him behind the man Rollan was fighting. With a growl, he aimed a blow at the man’s head. The Oathbound swayed before falling to the ground, landing with a thud. The man Conor had been fighting was trembling on the ground, with Briggan’s big paws on his chest, h
olding him down.
Worthy, Conor, and Rollan had a moment to stand looking at each other as the dust of the fight settled around them.
Overhead, Essix soared and let out a fierce cry.
“More Oathbound coming!” Rollan gasped, blinking, and Worthy knew he’d been looking through the falcon’s eyes.
The three whirled to see nine more black-clad figures charging down the street, led by the one who had run away. Uh-oh, Worthy realized. She hadn’t been fleeing—she’d been fetching reinforcements.
Three against ten was another story. No, make that twelve—two members of the original Oathbound ambush were climbing from the ground, picking up the swords they’d dropped.
Rollan and Conor took up defensive stances, back-to-back. “Stay with us!” Rollan shouted at Worthy, as if they were going to protect him!
Both of the boys were panting. Conor gripped the small knife, their only weapon. Essix had landed on Rollan’s shoulder; Worthy saw the boy flinch as she caught her balance, her talons clinging to him. Briggan crouched at Conor’s side, ready to attack.
Worthy formed up next to them. “What’s the plan?” he asked.
“Uh, don’t let them capture us?” Rollan said. He kept his eyes on the Oathbound, who were being ordered by the tall, thin Marked man with the vulture to split into groups. They’d attack from three sides.
“No plan,” Conor said quickly. “We can’t defeat that many. We’ll have to fight our way free and run.”
“Oathbound!” came the harsh call from the Marked leader. “Attack!” His vulture was perched on his shoulder. At his order, its ragged wings spread wide and it launched itself into the air, swooping closer as the black-clad soldiers drew their weapons—mostly swords, with just a few spears to keep things interesting.
Worthy extended his claws and crouched, ready to spring into action.
And then the Oathbound were on them.
Growling, Briggan leaped, tackling a soldier and sending his sword flying.
Overhead, the vulture, twice Essix’s size, battled the falcon; the two birds clashed and then tumbled to the ground, trailing feathers. The vulture had no vocal cords, so it had no call, but it made a guttural hissing sound as it tried slashing Essix with its hooked beak. Worthy heard the falcon shriek with fury and saw her hurl herself into the air again, pursued by the ponderously flapping vulture.
Heart of the Land Page 8