Tess’s lips parted, not knowing what to say or how to begin. He took her hands firmly in his.
“Don’t you trust me, Tess?” Linden’s eyes searched her face. Tess could feel her palms moisten, and she fought the urge to run.
Asher’s sudden, heavy footsteps startled them apart. He coughed unnecessarily.
“We’d better be off now.”
“Right,” Linden said.
They stood, and Tess’s green-orange eyes glistened at Linden’s profile. He turned, catching her glance.
“I pray you will confide in me,” he said softly. “I wish to earn back your trust, my lady.”
Tess forced a smile, unable to keep herself from twisting her engagement pearls around her finger. If the prince saw, he did not show it.
At the foot of the hill, Currant had already begun to assemble the company. Forty-five Wallatonian men and thirty woolly animals waited for Asher as he descended from his cabin with Tess and Linden. Beside these stood sixty-five horsemen and breeders, accompanied by forty-five of their prized ponies, with Shila and Abe at the head.
“Friends of the Militia, it is time to overtake the battering ram upon the cliffs,” Linden commanded. “Foggy Plains, with me.”
“Aye,” Asher added. “And Wallaton folk, into the cliffs with me.” He raised his staff and began to skirt the hill toward the cliffs, away from the main road. “Come now, Miss Tessamine,” he called.
“Keep safe, my lady,” Linden said before joining Currant. The creatures of Foggy Plains followed, marching toward the main road. Tess looked about and found Jesse cantering toward her.
“Jesse, don’t leave me again.” Tess tucked her hand under Jesse’s mane and rested her forehead against his neck.
“Remain in hope. I will see you soon.” Jesse’s whipped his tail.
“Hurry, miss,” Asher called out. “The dawn won’t wait for us.”
Jesse nuzzled her neck, then joined the ponies out of the old firs and onto the road.
As Tess mechanically followed Asher and the cliffdwellers, she wondered how she would bear what was to come without anyone she knew from home. Even more frightening was the realization that if she ever wanted to see them safe again, Pider had to be stopped.
Then Wyndeling swooped to her shoulder. The unexpected weight set Tess off balance.
“Apologies, my lady. I took the liberty of a quick hunt.” Wyndeling paused, and Tess could feel the owl studying her. “Are you well, my lady?”
“It’s up to me to stop this war,” Tess said. “And I’m afraid I will fail.” She looked over her shoulder for a glimpse of Linden.
“Perhaps you would fail if you were on your own, my lady,” Wyndeling said soberly. “But, if I may say so, you will always have me.”
Chapter 43
This way,” Asher beckoned his charges to the sheer face of the cliffs where the fir trees ended and rock began. “Into the tunnel yeh go. Keep your voices low; the echoes carry.”
“Oh, for mercy’s sake; more tunnels,” Wyndeling groaned as Tess followed the rest of the Wallatonians into a narrow fissure dug out of the rock.
Pipe sauntered cheerily alongside them. “Some of these have been around since before Glademont’s time. There’ve been cliffdwellers living here since, well, since the beginning of Diatonica.”
“It must have taken years to build,” Tess said, gazing at the dense rock.
“Patience runs in a cliffdweller’s blood—that is, for most of us.” Pipe cocked his head toward the fearsome mountain goat to his right.
“Hah,” Tartan cried. “I’ll tell you what impatient means. To the cowardly, it means young and stupid. To the courageous, it means hungry for justice.”
Pipe slipped Tess a knowing wink.
The tunnel took a sharp turn, and the Wallaton warriors padded along just inside the face of the cliffs. Long slivers cut into the outer wall allowed the starlight in.
Half an hour passed, and the men and animals ahead stopped. Before them rose a pile of rubble, blocking the way forward. To Tess’s surprise, rams and ewes leapt up the jumble of fallen rock as easily as one ambles through a garden path. More surprising than this was the ease with which their shepherds scaled the same rocks. Even Asher scampered up the blockage like a squirrel on a trunk.
“Here,” said gentle Pipe to Tess. “Grab hold of my horns.”
Tess obeyed, grasping each of Pipe’s sturdy, curling horns. Slowly, the ram pulled Tess up the shifting rocks. More than once she slipped and had to place all of her weight on Pipe’s head and neck. But the young ram proved solid as an oak. The pair reached the peak of the rubble, and as Pipe lifted his head, Tess was forced to stand up straight. Blinking, she found herself eye level with the worn leather boots of several Wallatonian shepherds. Asher’s strong arms lifted her out of the hole she was peering out of, and soon Tess stood in another tunnel.
They scaled four more mounds of loose rock. Each time, Tess felt she would twist an ankle if not for her sturdy boots. When the company finally reached the fifth tier of the tunnels, the glow of predawn crept through the slits in the rock. Tess was beginning to sweat under her cotton shirt, and the cold snap of the morning felt good on her face.
A hush came over the shepherds and their bondfellows, and Tess noticed the men crouching to avoid the slivered openings in the tunnel wall. The distinctive western accent of an Atheonian soldier suddenly cut the stillness.
“Had to get out of there. That foul smell will stay with me till my dying days, mark you.”
Tess and the cliffdwellers froze.
“My throat’ll feel like sand for a month,” answered another voice.
The footsteps of the two men faded into the distance, and Tess tiptoed to an opening in the rock. She could just make out the men as they headed back to a cluster of Atheonian soldiers, packed tight along the main road. Many bent over with compresses to their heads. Because of the sharp bend in the road, Tess couldn’t tell how many men there were, but she heard the baying of hounds.
“We’re close.” Asher handed Tess a strip of burlap. “It’ll keep yeh from gettin’ ill.”
Tess tied the rough cloth across her mouth and nose.
“No, thank you very much,” Wyndeling hissed as she watched Tess tie her makeshift breathing mask.
“Oh, for pity’s sake. This is no time to be vain.” Tess tied it about the red owl’s beak.
The first shafts of soft pink sunlight streaked across the tunnel. Tess felt the golden ends of the shenìl gently bumping against her side as she waited for their next move. Then a dozen women appeared, threading between the men and animals and carrying heavy buckets. Their long hair, twisted in cloth, wound about their necks like scarves. They grinned to themselves as they snaked between the creatures of the FOM.
Even through her burlap mask, the smell of the cliff laurel seeped into Tess’s nostrils. It tasted thick and sour on the back of her tongue, and she felt her knees go weak. A passing woman forced Tess’s chin down to her chest and pressed a thumb hard against the base of her skull. When Tess’s legs felt solid again, she whispered her thanks. The woman winked and continued on.
The buckets of cliff laurel were soon gone and Tess untied the burlap from her face. Wyndeling had tumbled to the floor and was swaying precariously on her talons.
Ahead, the sheep and goats gathered to one side of a large opening in the rock, through which a ghostly sky was visible. Behind the animals, shepherds gripped their staffs. Tess slipped to another window, and through it saw more Atheonians. The soldiers differed from bandits—clean-shaven and dressed in smart military uniforms. Those who had sashes around their waists also carried elegant swords.
A goatherd spotted Tess. “Get down.”
Tess tiptoed back to the far wall and waited in silence.
“Lieutenant, are we ready to proceed?” The voice from out
side the tunnel wall was unmistakable—Tynaiv. Tess’s knees felt weak again. “Fall in, men. If I see you slacking, I’m not above kicking you off this cliff.”
The blast of a shepherd’s horn reverberated throughout the tunnel, jarring as a rooster’s crow. Asher leapt into the tunnel opening, his staff resting upon the great slab of stone. In his other hand, he blew through a hollowed-out ram’s horn, while the mighty herd of bondfellows thundered past, spilling onto the main road.
“Bondfellows first,” Asher shouted as his kinsmen passed. “Separate men from hounds. Isolate the battering ram. Move, Wallaton.”
Tess watched, her leather boots pasted to the stone floor, her limbs unresponsive.
“Well, for pity’s sake,” Wyndeling cried. “What are we waiting for?”
“Linden, he . . . he told me to keep safe.”
“Yes, well, my mother told me never to talk to humans, and look where we are. Come, Lady Tessamine. I could never face Buchanan again if he learned I hid in a tunnel while domesticated animals fought in my stead.”
With that, Wyndeling darted out and sank her long talons into the visage of an Atheonian soldier. Tess inched forward, watching with fearful admiration as Pipe evaded the thrust of an officer’s sword, spun about, and kicked the man clear over the edge of the cliffs.
But the shepherds struggled to make headway. Despite the Atheonians’ night of nausea, they carried real weapons. Their swords and knives splintered Wallatonian staffs, and the battering ram was out of reach, high on the road and surrounded by a wall of men.
The mountain animals began to separate from their men, pushing down the road where a dense pack of hounds waited behind a team of bandits. The goats and sheep had not yet tried golden magic, their imposing muscles and rock-hard skulls being sufficient for twenty untrained bandits. The hounds watched, barking and howling with anticipation. But when the bandits had been scattered, and the Wallatonian animals found themselves face to face with the hounds of Atheos, a new kind of battle began.
Fat strands of glowing red streaked from the foremost hounds’ jowls. A dozen mountain sheep struggled to breathe as the magical ropes constricted their necks. A bandit ran his blade through a suffocating ewe. Sneering, more bandits moved to do the same.
Tartan gathered himself first, planting his hooves in the ground, snorting, and sending a rippling stream of gold toward an unsuspecting hound. The stream rose up into a pair of straight, ribbed horns. The hound stared mutely at the shimmering horns as they thrust into him like lances.
The hound’s blood spilled onto the main road, and one of the sheep cried out in relief, for the red rope had disappeared from her neck. With fire in their bones, the cliffdwellers planted their hooves and lowered their powerful heads.
While the bondfellows flexed their golden muscles, the Atheonian soldiers faced off with the men of Wallaton. The shepherds joined in circular formations, facing outward so no soldier could come close without a staff’s crack to the head. Forty shepherds spun and batted at soldiers, trying everything they could to get to the battering ram.
Still hiding in the Wallatonian tunnel, Tess strained to see the great instrument of war. It looked to her like a colossal parade float, but instead of festive colors and confetti, it sported long strips of thick leather. The weapon rode on rough wooden wheels the height of two men. At its far end glinted the bronze head of a rhinoceros, haughty and wrathful. Tess’s chest tightened as she thought of her beloved Redfoot, smoldering and desolate. She thought of the peace that was lost, and her blood boiled.
Tess discovered the shenìl was already in her hands, and a sizzling flame burned between them. To her left, golden magic clashed with red as rams fought snarling hounds. To her right, shepherds wielded their staffs against a constant tide of Atheonian soldiers. Beyond this, Tess spotted a team of archers stationed all over the battering ram, sending arrows amid the Wallatonians, and the fighting circles of shepherds shrank by the second.
Tess stood on the edge of it all, her black hair swirling and her face glowing in the light of her own flame.
Leap out.
Tess heard that familiar voice. She took a step backward and sprang into the air, her long legs stretching in a graceful jeté.
Time slowed almost to a halt, and Tess saw arrows spinning in place all around her. Then she was rising, passing the arrows, gliding in midair. Her feet swept over the heads of hundreds of frozen soldiers, ascending up over the main road. She reached the battering ram and landed on the road with a shudder. Invisible rings radiated from her toes like ripples in water.
The rings expanded in an instant, overthrowing every Atheonian foot and paw, from the archers on the ram to the hounds below.
“To the battering ram,” Tartan cried.
Some animals formed a wide golden shield, blocking the hounds. The rest charged behind Tartan, and the shepherds tore through the ranks of fallen Atheonians. Reaching the battering ram, the mountain goats and rams squared their horned heads against the frame and lunged with all their strength.
“Send it to the valley, cliffdwellers,” Pipe called.
The solid wood creaked. The rhinoceros head swayed reluctantly. But the structure would not yield.
The fallen Atheonians began to recover their footing.
“We’ll never tip it this way,” Asher cried as he sidestepped the blade of an Atheonian officer, bringing his staff down between the man’s shoulders.
Tess’s heart pounded against her chest as she grasped the ends of her trinket with each hand. Obeying the promptings of the voice only she could hear, she raised her hands so the medal of the shenìl dangled above her forehead. A funnel of shimmering air began to twirl about the battering ram, scattering Atheonians and cliffdwellers alike. The mighty battering ram began to turn.
A man’s hand clamped around Tess’s throat, his arm pinned against her chest.
“Put it back,” Tynaiv purred in Tess’s ear.
Tess fell to her knees as she tried to wriggle free, and the magic whirlwind thinned. His hand stayed about her throat. She felt the prick of a blade against her lower back, and she froze.
Asher lunged forward. “Not another step, good citizen,” Tynaiv said. He was kneeling behind her. He spoke in her ear again. “Tess, the battering ram. Put it back.”
“I can’t,” she said, gasping.
“Do it, please.” She heard his breath quicken.
Tess did her best to keep calm as she felt the trickle of warm blood seep into her cotton shirt. “I do what it tells me. Not the other way around.”
“All this for a toy that won’t let you play with it,” Tynaiv muttered. “Lower your hands, then,” He forced Tess to arch her back with his cold blade.
She lowered her arms, hanging the shenìl on her belt. The winds vanished.
“Your attention, please.” Tynaiv pulled Tess to her feet, his knife never leaving her back. “I assume this lady is important to you all, as she is to me. Allow my men to pass, and she will live. Harm one more of my company, and her life is forfeit.”
Asher squeezed his shepherd’s staff with trembling hands. “Let her go, and we will let you and your company retreat unharmed.”
“No such luck.” Tess could hear the flippant smile on the sailor’s lips. “We have spotted your comrades coming up the road.”
Asher’s face contorted. Nearby, Tartan bobbed his head with a threatening grunt.
“No,” Tynaiv continued, “you cease fighting while we carry on up the cliffs. Rebel, and your most powerful weapon will perish.” He nudged the knife farther, and Tess cried out in pain.
Tartan pawed at the earth. His horizontal eyes were wild. “Don’t let him take another step.”
But Asher did not move. He gazed with agony on Tess’s face. She tried to hide the pain caused by Tynaiv’s unrelenting hand.
“Very good.” Tynaiv slowly led Tess
away, his back to the rocks. “Sands Tribe, with the battering ram, if you please. Horns, you’re with me as well. Javas, escort our guests to the hounds and wait for their friends from Foggy Plains. Let’s use the red stuff only for the ram, nothing else. Keep things civil, now.”
Those who belonged to the Sands Tribe assumed positions around the battering ram and ordered their hounds to reorient it. Bundle after bundle of glowing red ropes slung across the body of the ram. It dug small craters in the dust as it righted itself on the road. The weapon lurched forward, and more men took up the rear, including a few archers who padded backward, their arrows notched and ready.
“You’ve done your best,” Tynaiv called, forcing Tess to walk with the archers. “Go home now. After all, whom do you defend but the royals safe in their castle? Where were they when we stormed on Redfoot? Eh?”
Madly, Tess searched the skies for Wyndeling. Tynaiv’s knife found a new spot to pierce, and fresh blood soaked her shirt. She watched her friends disappear behind a bend in the road, and then she was alone with Tynaiv.
Chapter 44
Tess clutched her shenìl while a mass of Atheonian soldiers and a handful of bandits kicked up the fine dirt around her. They had been marching all morning up the cliffs, leaving Tess’s friends farther and farther behind.
Come on, concentrate, she urged herself. Tynaiv had let her walk freely, the end of his officer’s sword always within striking distance, and she had tried in vain to communicate with the shenìl. Each time she strove to surrender as Ember had taught her, nothing happened. Now she marched to Glademont Castle not as a guardian, but as a prisoner.
“It wasn’t too long ago I became acquainted with your betrothed in a manner such as this.” Tynaiv thrust his sword in the air. “I regret to say, my opinion of him did not improve.”
Tess closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The first mode of surrender: confident obedience to the shenìl.
“Incidentally, what did he think of our rendezvous in the forest? Jealous, I’ll wager,” he mocked.
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