“Lady Tessamine,” a familiar voice called out. Tess saw Linden striding toward her, still barefoot and weakened but eyeing Tynaiv with energy. “I beg you not to speak to this man. He is a spy and a villain.”
“Your Highness.” Tess curtsied, still feeling Tynaiv’s eyes on her. “I was questioning him.”
Linden knitted his eyebrows at her. Though his face was streaked with dirt, she saw his expression was as earnest as ever. He then caught sight of Osiris. The bear’s sheer size gave him pause, but he recovered himself.
“You must be Lady Tessamine’s new friend. I thank you. Glademont thanks you,” he said.
“Who be this, madame gem?” Osiris said.
“This is Prince Linden of Glademont. Prince Linden, this is Osiris of . . . Glademont.”
“Ho ho,” Osiris bellowed. “Well, Prince Linden of Glademont, so you be saying, I was just about to finish this villain of yours.”
Linden stepped into Tynaiv’s camp and searched the items strewn there. “I’m afraid I must deprive you of that privilege, Osiris.” He found his bow and quiver and, with relish, aimed an arrow at Tynaiv’s heart. “For it will fall to me.” He carefully backed toward Tess, out of striking range from Tynaiv.
“Forgive me.” Tynaiv hooked his hands on his hips again. “But do we really believe the good prince would harm me? The spoiled pup of a weaponless country?” Tynaiv’s dimple deepened with amusement. An arrow hummed past his head, nicking the flesh between his neck and shoulder. He shuddered and grasped his bloody shirt, while Linden drew another arrow.
“Killing you is currently my foremost desire. Explain your accusation that I had anything to do with this war, or I will indulge myself.”
Tynaiv’s eyes watered, but still he smiled through gritted teeth. “Yours was a plot for revenge gone awry.”
“Whose revenge?” Tess said.
“Revenge for the royal family, my lady.” Tynaiv stared meaningfully at her, working his jaw.
“He’s no use, Your Highness.” Tess returned his gaze fiercely.
“No such plot existed,” Linden said. The arm holding his bowstring drooped with exhaustion.
“It seems,” continued Tynaiv, pulling a handkerchief to stop the bleeding, “that Linden and his mother have a certain death to avenge.” He looked at Linden, an eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that right, good prince?”
Linden threw down his bow, picked up a rock, stepped forward, and struck Tynaiv on the side of the head.
“Your Highness,” Tess cried.
“Osiris, if you would be so kind as to take this rodent down to his cell.”
Chapter 22
ryon bent over the sleek fox in the mottled afternoon rays. From the boy’s shoulder, Profigliano eyed their new acquaintance ruefully. The soldier named Grift lay prone a few paces away. Ryon pointed to his limp body.
“Listen, Evening,” he said. “We don’t have a lot of time before that man wakes up. Profigliano claims you tried to eat him. What about it?”
The black fox batted amber eyes with apparent woe.
“A lamentable truth,” he purred. “An event that occurred only a few hours ago, when I thought all was lost and I would starve to death.”
“Ho ho ho,” Profigliano cried. “You were savoring me like a sugar pie.”
“The brutes kept me in that sack for so long,” the fox insisted, “my stomach ached with hunger. Please forgive my eagerness to ingest you.”
“Psha.” The towhee crossed his wings and spun about on Ryon’s shoulder.
“I think you had better start from the beginning, Evening,” said the ever-patient Ryon.
“Of course,” Evening said. “Two days ago, I happened to be napping in the groove of an old tree root, digesting a bellyful of . . . um, fish. Suddenly, a man stood before me. At first, I thought he was the prince of Glademont, for I had heard rumors he was back in the forest. But when the gentleman lifted me by the tail, I understood otherwise. He inquired as to my allegiance, and I knew him to be Atheonian. ‘Speak or be executed,’ said the man. Can you believe the nerve? Waltzing into the Hinge and holding creatures by their tails?
“Nevertheless, we foxes are skilled in the art of survival. ‘I wish to serve the crow and King Nabal’s army,’ said I—a ruse, you understand. It took many reassurances on my part to convince him, but once I promised the locations of all the creatures in the Hinge who refused to follow the crow, he seemed to brighten up. Again, a ruse, I can assure you—‘biding time and staying alive,’ as my dear mother used to say. At any rate, they bagged me up and jostled me about and generally treated me harshly. When I tried to escape, the lieutenant took a souvenir, as you can see.”
Evening proudly displayed what was left of his ear.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Ryon said. “How do you know Prince Linden?”
Evening shifted his weight. “Are you the leader of this company?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ryon said, surprised at the question. “My sister and I came here by accident—”
Evening gazed up at Ryon in a foxy sort of way. “What is her name?”
“Don’t you tell him, Master Ryon.” Profigliano turned about and hopped up onto Ryon’s head. “He’s a sneaky snake and he’s up to no good. Put him back in the bag and let’s get outta here.”
Just then, Grift began to moan behind them. “Oy . . . oh-oh. I needs some cool water. . . .”
Jesse trotted into the camp, gracefully stepping over Grift.
“Time to go,” he said.
The hoarse cursing of Lieutenant Pilt could be heard as he tromped through the trees. And Grift was beginning to get his bearings.
“Come on, Fig.” Ryon raced for Jesse and leapt onto his back. He loaded his sling and caught Evening’s glinting eyes. The fox lowered his head an inch, his light body tensed and at the ready.
“Master Ryon,” Evening called. “You carry a weapon I know to be made by the prince of Glademont. He has been captured. But I can take you to the prince’s allies here in the wood. Follow me.” With astonishing speed, Evening whipped into the underbrush.
Jesse hesitated as Ryon’s gaze followed the black fox.
“Did he say Prince Linden was in trouble?”
Profigliano circled Ryon’s head. “We should never have opened that stinky bag.”
“If Prince Linden isn’t free, Glademont will never win this war,” Ryon said, sweat dripping from his forehead. Jesse shifted unsteadily on his hooves as Grift got to his feet.
“Come on, Jesse,” Ryon urged. He pressed his knees against the stallion’s sides.
Pilt limped into view, holding the hatchet from Root’s back. He yelled and drew his arm to throw.
“Jesse, come on.” Ryon pulled at Jesse’s mane until the powerful legs beneath him began to churn. The next moment, they were thundering after the fox.
Evening had waited for them just beyond the Atheonian campsite. Once in view, the fox shot off again, pattering over the forest floor, barely disturbing the ferns and dry leaves. Ryon clutched Jesse’s white mane, keeping a watchful eye on the slender black figure ahead. The trees were thick and Jesse could not manage his full speed, but the shouting of the Atheonians soon grew faint.
“Evening,” Ryon called out. “The Atheonians are gone. Tell us where are we going.”
Ryon’s eyes were tired, and his head was beginning to ache. From the time that Tess crossed Ruby Creek to the moment Evening crawled out of a burlap sack, there had not been a moment’s rest. Had he eaten that day? He could not remember.
The fox leapt upon a limestone ledge and looked back to the boy. His velvet head cocked to the side as Jesse checked his pace alongside the ledge.
“We go to see a friend of your prince’s.”
“Prince Linden has friends in the Hinge?” Ryon said.
�
�Yes, and with Atheos taking the castle as well as the valley, these are the only friends he may have left.”
“What do you mean? Has Atheos taken the villages in the valley?” Ryon hoped the fox could not see the frantic pulsing of his chest. Even if Tess had found the Thane’s Hold, would she be too late?
The fox stared solemnly. Then his head turned to the lowering sun. “Come,” he said, and leapt from the ledge.
Before Ryon could inquire further, the fox was speeding among the ferns again. Profigliano, who had been pursuing his rescuers from the air, landed upon Ryon’s shoulder huffing and puffing.
“I gotta say . . . your Ryon-ness”—the towhee panted—“this kind of race is not for the birds. I’ve rapped my brains on more than one branch a-tryin’ to keep an eye on you boys. I think I better take a break in your pocket, if ya don’t mind?”
Ryon gently stowed his small friend, and Jesse charged onward.
The day aged, and the sun grew heavier. At one point, their path veered due south, and Ryon began to worry they would not find Ruby Creek again. His head felt so foggy from worry and sleeplessness, he distrusted his sense of direction.
When Evening finally slowed to a trot, the fox lifted his muzzle to smell the air. To their left and in front of them, the sky seemed much nearer than it had been. A broad ribbon of cobalt blue stood out from behind the old tree trunks of the Hinge, softened only by the orange-rimmed cotton clouds that drifted near eye level.
“We are almost upon the cliffs,” Evening said quietly. “We must be cautious. Atheonians came this way not too long ago.”
Ryon dismounted and followed Evening toward the tree line, keeping close to Jesse’s neck. They descended into a small hollow shaded by a single poplar. Evening trotted through a thick mound of ivy to the very edge of the hollow. Ryon gazed out into an empty expanse. The spot overlooked the west side of Glademont Valley, where the cliffs plummeted before bending into a vast, lush valley, dotted by the four villages of the dione. Ryon glanced over his left shoulder and saw, above the cliffs, the Gull Mountains looming beyond. Glademont Castle was hidden from view by the tall pines of the Hinge, but Ryon knew it was there.
“They’re camped in Redfoot now.” Evening slanted his jeweled eyes toward the southwestern corner of the valley, where Glademont’s great city sat. The bustling hub of the dione nestled against the southwestern border.
Ryon followed the fox’s gaze. “Who is camped there?”
“The Atheonian army.”
Ryon could hardly believe it. Redfoot was the most vibrant place he had ever known. He had grown up hearing of its color and excitement from his sisters while they attended the prestigious Redfoot Academy. Two months ago, it was finally his turn, and the city did not disappoint him. He met more interesting, more joyful people there than at any banquet in the stone halls of Glademont Castle. Were they all captive now? Or worse?
“Where in the city has Atheos camped?”
“At the center. Where I believe the market is held,” Evening said.
Ryon focused his memory on the Market, the tallest building in the city, from which all streets radiated in a large web. The building was actually a self-contained collection of three smaller buildings. First, the great rotunda faced the Miri River to the east, and two long wings curled out from its sides, joining at the end by a gate and gatehouse. Ryon strained his eyes and saw smoke emitting from the city. Black billowing smoke.
Atheonian drums could be heard echoing against the cliffs: the low, quick monotone beat of a warring people.
“They have five hundred soldiers at least down there,” Evening said. “They brought all kinds of things with them, including enough rope and chain to imprison most of the villagers in that rotunda.”
“Have they taken any of the other villages?” Ryon scanned the rest of the valley.
“Well, they’ve taken Redfoot; that’s clear enough. I heard when they came out of the southern woods, the Atheonians charged like men possessed. Most of the Redfooties had taken shelter in the Market, but the gate is split to pieces now. A battering ram. The Redfooties are even being forced to mend the ram. So they say.”
“Why?” Ryon saw his hands were shaking.
“We think they’re heading for Glademont Castle. There are only a few hundred Atheonian rabble up that way, and they can’t get into the castle.” Evening looked sideways at Jesse, who was eyeing the fox in a piercing fashion.
“Who escaped from Redfoot?” Jesse said.
“Oh, yes. That is . . . how did you know? Yes, some of the Redfooties resisted. We heard legends, but had never seen . . . Well, there were bursts of gold light that night—giant clouds of it. Some escaped north.”
“And there were animals among them.” Jesse looked to the center of the valley where the pony breeders of Foggy Plains lived.
“Yes. There were animals. Can you actually see them from here?”
As Evening glanced at Jesse with a degree of uneasiness, Ryon tried valiantly not to let the news of Redfoot’s fall further the commotion in his aching head. That the Atheonians had not yet penetrated the castle was encouraging. On the other hand, what of his friends and professors at the academy? What of the tradesmen and their families?
“Now, my friends and rescuers,” said Evening in a cordial but hurried manner, “we really must be going.”
“Looks like stinky squelcher is up to his usual tricks,” Profigliano said.
Ryon tore his eyes from the black smoke to the south. “What are we in such a hurry for? Who are these people you say will help Prince Linden?”
“You lot seem to think you are the only ones with reason to be suspicious,” Evening said. “But the truth is, I am not inclined to trust you, either. There is something dangerous about this horse; it puts me on edge. Jesse, did you say?” Evening eyed Jesse as though his mane and tail were about to burst into flames.
“You are right,” the steed answered. “I am dangerous, and I do not suffer deceivers. Tell us where you are taking us.” Jesse lowered his head and took a slow step forward.
“Oh, my.” Evening retreated, then sat with his velvety tail wrapped around his paws and smoothed out his shorn ear. “Well, if we are late, you’ve only yourselves to blame. We go to see a band of animals, not people, Master Ryon. They call themselves the Friends of the Militia. The FOM. Currant of the Birch Herd is their leader. I say they because I am not in the habit of joining rebel groups—or any groups for that matter—that do not afford much in the way of anonymity. Nevertheless, Currant is a friend of mine, and—”
“Friends of the Militia?” Ryon could not help but interject. “As in Glademont’s militia? Why, that was only formed a few days ago. . . .”
“Oh, for Luna’s sake, just come on. I’ll never make it to the meeting at this rate.”
The fox took a few paces before looking over his shoulder. Ryon glanced again at the smoke rising from Redfoot. A moment ago, it seemed Glademont was lost. But this band of animals—these Friends of the Militia—could they really help his people? He thought of Tess hoping to learn the ways of the shenìl. She was trying to save her dione the best way she knew. Perhaps this was Ryon’s chance to do the same.
With a determined nod to Evening, Ryon deposited Profigliano on his shoulder and followed the impatient fox southward into the heart of the Hinge. Jesse snorted briefly, but there was no further protest. Ryon walked a little taller. In time, he would show Tess and Papa he could fight for his dione. Perhaps he could even save it.
Chapter 23
Evening kept his eyes on the falling sun as he scurried through the auburn leaves and purple ferns of the Hinge. Behind him, Ryon trotted doggedly and Profigliano surveyed from atop Jesse’s head. Since fleeing his home, Ryon had grown accustomed to walking amid the dead silence of the Hinge. But now that they were headed toward the southern wood, the hum of wildlife could be heard. Ryon flinched a
s a pair of ducks quacked overhead.
“Don’t worry, Master Ryon,” Evening called over his shoulder. “That was Cheekathistle and her mate, Thorestook. We haven’t missed the meeting after all.”
Ahead loomed a steep slope, climbing upward and decorated with roots and yellowing vines. A series of trails snaked back and forth along the surface of the slope, well used yet subtle. The climb seemed a trivial exercise for Evening and Jesse, whereas Ryon, the only two-footed animal on the trail, found it tough going. The ascent was steep, with nothing to hold on to but old roots. Several times, Ryon slid backward in his smooth-soled boots. Fig hopped nearby, calling out suggestions and unnecessary warnings.
“An excellent move, Master Ryon. You are so quick, so sharp. So very muscly are your muscles . . . oh, careful now, careful there. I-ya don’t wanna squash your soufflé, but that left leg is gonna skate right off the side there. No use clawing up a hill with mangled legs, now is there?”
At last, all four creatures crested the slope as the day’s parting sunbeams splashed across their faces. Relieved to be on solid ground again, Ryon leaned against a tree trunk and noticed it was considerably smaller than the house-like trees of the Hinge. Then, looking about, Ryon beheld with awe a vast expanse of silver birches. It was one of the last days when the leaves of the silver birches danced in their most dazzling hue of yellow. The pearly birch trunks glowed in the setting sun, and the ground was aflame with the scarlet leaves of blueberry bushes, thick and happy in the breeze. It was such a stunning sight, Ryon did not notice the sudden appearance of a tall and graceful elk stag cantering toward them.
“Well, well,” Evening called. “Have I arrived in time, prince of the Birch Herd?”
The creature moved easily between thick berry bushes, his hooves making no sound. As Ryon admired the black twitching nostrils and young but sturdy antlers, he realized this creature must be Evening’s friend, Currant.
“How on the continent are you still alive, Eve?” Currant said. “I told you not to nap in the open, and the very next hour I come across an Atheonian. I thought for sure he would catch you.”
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