Chapter 38
Buchanan of Westbend did not enjoy sitting in caves. Ryon could tell by the way the owl shot suspicious looks at the ceiling, as though warning it not to try anything stupid. Before Buchanan stood Nory, Rette, and the Colonel. He addressed them as an official officer of the FOM.
“Nearly three-fourths of the Council of the Nest have come. The rest have agreed to join if the fighting breaches the borders of the Hinge.”
Ryon sat against a boulder, staring absently at a pile of stones for his new sling.
The Colonel’s beard had not stopped twitching since Buchanan arrived early that morning. Usually, that wouldn’t bother Ryon; Reggie was always agitated about something. But today, it gave him a pit in his stomach.
“Are you quite satisfied, dog?” Buchanan hooted.
The Colonel growled. “That’s Colonel Regency Thorn to you. Respect my rank, and I shall respect yours.”
“I’ll tell you plainly,” Buchanan said, “I’ve never cared for domesticated animals. We’ll see in battle whether you are as soft-beaked as I suspect.”
“Gentle creatures,” Rette interjected, much to Ryon’s relief. “The first rule of war is to trust your allies and make yourself trustworthy in return.” He palmed his ruddy hair behind his ear. “I believe Commander Buchanan fully capable of an effective onslaught. The number of birds out there in the old quarry is, indeed, impressive. At least four hundred, I’d say.”
The round owl nodded, eyes still narrowed.
Nory clamped a wide hand on Rette’s shoulder. “My concern,” he said, “is that our men and governors inside the castle will not know of our attack on Atheos. We will want them to be ready, especially those who wield magic.”
Buchanan made a sour face but seemed unable to argue the point. The new councillors of war searched one another’s faces.
Rette sighed. “With those raptors all over the place, there’s no way we could send a message by air. . . .”
“Perhaps I can help,” Evening said. He sat by Ryon’s knee, his soft tail wrapped about his black paws. Only Ryon had noticed him pad into headquarters a few moments before. Buchanan hopped from the ground in astonishment, and the Colonel unwillingly let out a surprised yelp. Nory offered applause.
“Bravo, Evening. A master of stealth. You are just the man for the job.”
“Remember, Master Rootpine,” the Colonel said, “this is a matter of great importance. Perhaps a creature with some experience . . .”
Buchanan hooted his agreement. “Foxes are notoriously untrustworthy.”
Ryon put a reassuring hand on the fox’s back. “If it weren’t for Evening, Jesse and I would never have met Prince Currant. And he’s dealt with Atheonians before. I say we send him.”
“Distinguished companions,” Evening said, “I would be honored to perform such a task. Just give me the message and point the way.”
Minutes later, equipped with his message and instructions, Evening pranced out of the cave, looking pleased with himself.
“We don’t have much time,” Buchanan said. “You. Human.”
Nory pointed to himself. “Nory.”
Buchanan nodded. “You wanted to show me your scribbles?”
“Er, a map,” Nory said, his eyebrows twisting. “To pin down our positions—”
“Master Ryon, my fellow of bondship and warrior of the highest order, sir.” Profigliano flew breathlessly into the headquarters.
“Please excuse him,” Ryon said. “He didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No time, no time,” the towhee called. “Now is the time, now is the time.”
“What are you chattering about?” Buchanan erupted.
“The Stitchipeeps, buddy-boy. The little ole Stitchipeeps are a-flappin’ this way. You know what that means. It’s go-time; it’s fight-time. It’s time to show those muckety-mucks who’s boss. Boy-o-boy, are my feetsies itchin’ for some face.”
Ryon readied himself for battle, glancing at Nory and Rette to watch them do the same. Nory buckled a unique pack equipped with two full quivers around his torso, then checked the string to his stout longbow. Rette cleaned and sharpened a slender sword and several throwing knives, and the tip of a lightweight bow peeked over his head.
“Did you check your weapons, Master Ryon?” Nory called.
“Is your dagger clean and dry?” Rette said, his head almost touching the craggy ceiling of the headquarters.
Ryon nodded and rubbed his hands together, hoping it might help with his nerves.
“You’ll be just fine.” Rette ruffled the boy’s cinnamon hair. “We’ve never been in a real battle, either. No Glademontian has for hundreds of years.” He smiled kindly. “If you focus on your shortcomings, you’ll never make it. You’ve got to think about why you are called to battle. Let the rest take care of itself.”
“Cherrywater, you are a wise scholar,” Nory hailed as he hoisted straw sleeping mats in a messy pile. “He’s right, of course. We go to battle only because Glademont needs defending.”
“Ryon, my magical buddy.” Profigliano suddenly swooped into the headquarters. He had taken the role of camp crier, which was both useful and irritating for all. “A big old bear just got here. And me-oh-my is he ever having a top-secret-gab-fest with the Rushing out there. I’m downright offended, if you want to know.”
“Osiris? What’s he doing here?” Ryon hurriedly stowed his weapons and sprinted out of the cave. Wasn’t Osiris supposed to be looking after Tess?
Standing out of the mouth of the headquarters with Profigliano close beside him, Ryon scanned the noisy crater for his sister’s stallion. All around him, four hundred birds of the Hinge made themselves busy loading a dozen sprawling nets, all braided by the founding members of the militia. The larger birds—such as the herons, falcons, and owls—filled nets with heavy rocks, while the smaller birds—wrens and larks and the like—tied and secured the nets with their nimble beaks.
Circling overhead, the five members of the Wise directed their clan with relish, while sporting intimidating costumes for battle. They wore necklaces made of brilliant leaves and the bones of rodents. Bright blues and yellows were stained around their already alarming eyes. Buchanan of Westbend looked the most imposing of all. Upon his striped head sat a headdress, made of rabbit pelt and crowned with the skull of a carnivorous fish. He and his fellow councillors screeched out their orders. Word had come that Currant and the FOM were marching on occupied Redfoot. The Nest Battalion was to attack Glademont Castle within the hour.
Of course, the Colonel did his share of ordering, too. While acknowledging Buchanan as his commander, he had appointed himself “Captain of Land Movement.” This meant that, as soon as any bird landed on the ground, the Colonel assumed jurisdiction. Every so often, a peal of irate barking could be heard, presumably when a bird had incorrectly considered the Colonel’s orders to be optional.
From his high vantage, Ryon scanned the trees of the Hinge on the far side of the crater, where he spotted Jesse’s butterscotch figure standing with a gigantic shaggy bear. The animals’ heads were close, and Ryon could see Jesse’s tail gently swishing.
“What do you think is going on over there? And where is Tess?” Ryon said to Profigliano.
“Beats me, fellow of the bond. Your illustrious steed shooed me away for the crime of curiosity. Some creatures are starting to think a lot of themselves around here.” Profigliano clacked his beak.
“Wait, there goes Jesse. What on the continent . . .” As Ryon watched Jesse disappear between the trees of the Hinge, the mammoth bear descended into the crater.
“The bear character from that shifty Ruby Creek, eh?” Profigliano said as Osiris caught sight of them and waved a shaggy paw. “You seem pre-tty fam-il-i-ar if you ask me.”
“Oh, Fig.”
Soon, Osiris had crossed the crater and was ambling up the rocky
exterior toward the cave.
“There he be now,” he called jovially. “The brave brother o’ the little gem.”
“What is it, Osiris?” Ryon said. “Is Tess in trouble?”
“She be looked after, little boy. Don’t ye be fretting.” Osiris surveyed the bustle of war preparations. “It be shaping up t’look like a real fight, aye?”
“Where did Jesse go? Is he coming back?”
“Yon steed be going on his own journey, young one. He had a message to thee: ‘Be confident in yer ability, and I’ll be seeing thee.’ Interesting fella, that steed of yers.”
“But—”
“Nest Battalion,” Buchanan screeched from somewhere overhead. “Move out.”
A host of birdcalls answered the order, and suddenly the crater was emptied and the sky filled with birds and nets.
“Come on,” Nory called as he and Rette came jogging out of headquarters. “We’ve got to get a move on—whoa.” Nory stumbled back at the sight of Osiris.
“Pleased to be meeting ye both,” the bear said. “I be Osiris, Guardian of Glademont and beast of King Wallis. Jesse be sending me as a poor substitute. I hope it be fine with ye?”
Both Nory and Rette sputtered something in the affirmative.
Ryon wanted to ask a million more questions, but the Nest Battalion was already on the move. After a quick recovery, Nory and Rette strode alongside Osiris, their weapons glinting in the sun. Ryon watched them with admiration as he stroked Fig’s white-and-red breast. The towhee cleared his throat.
“A house-sized bear plus two fit-and-firm young chappies sure makes us look like a couple of freshly hatched chickies, eh, fellow bonder?” he said.
“You heard what Jesse said. We’ve just got to be confident in our abilities. The rest will take care of itself.” He wasn’t at all sure of this, but Fig needed the extra boost.
Chapter 39
Tess lay against Linden’s shoulder. Her sobs had turned to quiet murmurs.
“I want to go home. Please take me home.”
He pulled her closer. “Not yet. A little longer . . .”
A minute passed with Tess against Linden, both of them sitting on the cold floor surrounded by the roar of the waterfall. Tess lifted her wet face and breathed. “I heard a woman’s voice,” she said.
“It looked as though you were in a trance.”
“I suppose I was. The voice was the spirit of Fyrian . . . like in the legend. She said that she made the shenìl. She gave me a choice. . . .”
“Yes?”
“To either abandon the shenìl or be its thane.” Tess felt like crying again, but she managed to control herself.
“Well, you have it here. Did you choose to be the thane?” Linden lifted her hand to show her.
Tess didn’t know what to say. She wanted to disappear, or soar out over the lake like Wyndeling.
“Let’s get you on your feet.” Linden lifted Tess and steadied her as she stared at the cool inanimate object in her hands. She had found the Thane’s Hold, and it wasn’t anything like she imagined. Instead of magic lessons, she was given two tasks: free someone trapped in Crescent Cave, and save Glademont. She couldn’t think about the consequences of her choice any longer. It was time to act. She glanced at the quiver strapped to Linden’s back.
“May I have a bit of that twine?”
With a puzzled look, Linden pulled off his quiver and uncoiled some of the twine that wound about the cylinder, cutting it with his knife. Tess tied the twine about the waist of her nightgown. She pulled one orb through the rope and left it hanging from her belt.
Linden grinned. “You look like a scholar. Older and wiser.”
“Skies help me,” Tess said. She felt older, but not wiser. She pinched the shenìl for luck. “Do something for me?”
“Name it.”
“Stay here.” She had spotted the grotto, to the right of the tunnel where they had entered the cave. It was dark, much darker than the cave. And a strange gray vapor swirled within.
“Absolutely not.” Linden shouldered his quiver and held his bow at the ready, his eyebrows meeting over his nose.
“If you don’t stay here, Wyndeling will worry.” Tess moved for the grotto before she could change her mind.
“Nonsense. She’s always going on about how well she can see in the dark. Let her find us.” He was at her side, his arm touching hers.
“Your Highness—”
They had entered the grotto, and Tess was suddenly freezing. She could feel droplets of icy water form on her arms and eyelashes. Tess drew her hood over her head, feeling as though they were walking through a frosty black fog. Her hands reached out for a wall or some stalagmite, but there was nothing.
“Hello?” Tess said after a while. “Is there anyone here?” A small pause followed, and Tess had the urge to turn back.
“I am here,” someone answered. It was a woman.
A burst of blinding red gas ripped open the blackness and lassoed Tess’s waist. She toppled and her shoulder collided with rock.
“Tess—” Linden grasped her arm and held on. The red magic pulled at her body, but Linden wrapped a leg about her, pinning her against the ground.
An echoing growl rumbled in the black fog, and Linden let go of Tess’s arm to reach for an arrow. Tess frantically felt for the shenìl. But without Linden holding on, the magic reeled Tess from under him. The fastening on her cloak nearly choked her as she slid along the rock. Gaseous ropes around her glowed red as poison.
“Linden,” she tried to scream, but her throat was pushed against the back of her neck. She could hardly breathe.
The prince bellowed, “I’ve got him.” Tess heard the creaking of a taut string, then saw an arrow fly to the point where the red rope dissolved into darkness.
The arrow clattered against rock.
Tess gave up trying to reach the shenìl and dug her fingers under the fastening of her cloak. She yanked at it, and just as she was able to draw a breath, she crashed into a wet, warm, furry body. It growled.
“Skies . . . ,” she choked. The body snarled, and Tess rolled from it. With a piercing bark, it lunged and caught her hood.
“I’ve got him,” Linden yelled again, this time much closer. The hound threw the hood from his mouth and stepped over Tess’s legs, lowering his head to the floor.
“Look out,” Tess called. But instead of a menacing swirl of red creeping from the hound’s nose, all went black again. The animal had made the ropes around Tess disappear, and they were enveloped in the pitch-dark.
Tess’s heart felt colder than the fog. A wet nose inspected the mute orbs against her thighs. Then another growl. The hound barked again, and Tess braced for his teeth. He struck her forearm as she shielded her face. She cried out as his hot mouth tightened against her bone.
Then, somewhere close, there was fire. Not the shenìl’s fire, for it was as tall as a sapling. A shrill whining reverberated in the fog, and the iron jaws released Tess’s arm. By the light of the enormous tongue of fire, Tess could see an arrow quivering in the hound’s ribs.
Tess stooped over him, her body shaking from the shock and the cold. Blood spilled onto her nightgown.
The singular flame receded, changing color and taking shape. It went from yellow to orange, orange to red, then red to a dark apricot. Some live creature emerged, still full of light but no longer difficult to look at directly. Tess stepped toward a lovely petite woman with shining copper skin and deep violet waves of hair reaching to her waist. A billowing robe of reflective, charcoal fabric moved with her arms. She seemed to be standing, but with great difficulty. Her shoulders slanted, her dark lips hung slack. It was like looking at the stained glass image of a tired star spirit.
The woman smiled with soft cheeks. “I am very glad to see you, Tess.”
“Madame.” Tess curtsied, shive
ring and holding her bleeding arm. “I am sent to rescue Fyrian’s daughter here.”
The woman’s large eyes twinkled. “Quite so.”
Linden stumbled into the light the lady cast. His stare went to Tess, and then to the woman.
“Did he hurt you, my lady?” He straightened uncertainly.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Tess tried for a smile, but it failed to arrive. This was not how she imagined she’d complete her first mission as the true thane.
“Prince Linden,” the woman said, “I am Ember. An arrow well shot, sir.”
“I—thank you.” He bowed with his head still inclined toward Tess. He had spotted her arm.
“You honor your mother in helping Tess safely to the Hold. You honor her well. She was wise to send you both to the cave, dangerous though it was.”
“I was to hide the shenìl.” Tess was shivering so violently, she gave up all formality. “But I . . . well, it was no good. Pider found me anyway. So we had to come here. I had to learn to use it.”
“You’ve done much more than that,” Ember said. “You’ve become the thane. You are marked with its fire.”
Tess looked down, expecting to see a flame tattooed to her palm, or some mystical aura hovering over her skin. But all she saw was the shenìl, dark and silent.
“You have chosen your sacrifice?” Ember said.
Tess took a sharp breath and looked at Linden. His eyebrows knitted together.
“Whatever the loss, it was a worthy act,” Ember continued. Her shoulders tipped farther, and the curls quivered. “Everything in our power must be done to keep Pider from obtaining the weapon.”
“Forgive me.” Linden bowed again. “You are Ember? The sister who was threatened in that letter we found at the Ruins?”
“That,” Ember said with a sigh, “is a lengthy tale.”
“Madame, please, I must know what plagues my dione.” Linden took a step forward. “I must know how Glademont came to be hated by this magician. I have no other purpose on this continent but to protect her.” He looked to Tess, again focusing on her bleeding arm.
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