by Bo Burnette
Leaping across the half-dozen train roofs, his burgundy cape flashing each time he passed in and out of a lantern’s light, darted the spy who had plagued their journeys for so long.
He had come to the castle a year ago, asking Ilayda and Erik for shelter. He had ventured outside, against Ilayda’s warnings, because he had a mission to complete. He had fled when his mission had failed. He had given Lord Brédan an ominous message. He had jumped prisoners out of their cells. He had attacked the seaside city. He had fought Philip, deceived Arliss. He had stowed away on their ship. He had double-crossed them once more in Anmór.
Orlando leapt from the fifth to the fourth car, reaching down to balance himself. Ilayda ducked down flat, but it was no use. He’d already seen them.
Then, at the far end of the train, new colors flashed up onto the roof in the lantern light. The golden waves of hair. The aquamarine blue slitted skirt. The silhouette of a bow rising into the darkness—a bow she could not shoot, for even the slightest misaim could kill Ilayda or Brallaghan. But she was there all the same.
Lurching slowly across the last passenger train, Arliss kept her gaze fixed confidently ahead.
The metal roof felt like water—freezing, slick water—beneath Arliss’s feet as she placed one foot in front of the next. She steeled herself and kept going. Philip and Erik had said they would be right behind her, and no doubt Eamon would fetch Ríon and Clare. Yet who knew if they would come soon enough? For now, her rescue team consisted of herself only.
She reached the edge of the train just as it jerked around a slight curve, nearly throwing her off. She stumbled to her knees, gripping the edge of the roof. The car swayed treacherously beneath her. She stared at the ten-foot fall that would bring instant death beneath the train’s unstoppable course. Several thick coils of rope connected the two cars and gave them flexibility to racket around the sharpest of curves.
If you think about it any longer, Arliss told herself, you’ll never do it. Just jump.
So she jumped. Somehow she found her feet, held onto her bow, and kept running. Her balance threatened to pull away from her. Her heart was already pounding too fast to keep up with itself, and the run across the train certainly wasn’t helping things.
Her eyes fixed on the step ahead…the step ahead…the step ahead. She reached the end of the fifth car and jumped.
She ought to have been looking the whole time. She knew that in the back of her mind. Now, though, she knew it in the front of her mind as well. Her eyes shot up to find a most unpleasant surprise waiting on the roof of the fourth car.
Orlando pointed Thane’s sword at her. “You’re decent at hopping trains. Now you just have to mind your surroundings.”
He thrust at her, but she wasn’t close enough. His next sweep, though, would have cut off her head. She ducked at the last moment to avoid it, but her move was too sudden. Before she could stop herself, she was sliding off the edge of the train.
Her free hand grasped for something—even if it was Orlando—but she simply slid across chilled metal. Her feet swung through the air that threatened to blow them both off the top. Finally, she let her bow tumble off the side. With two hands now free, she clenched around an indentation in the metal and hauled herself back up.
Orlando waited, his sword pointed up. He smirked. “What a pity. I always have a backup plan as far as weapons.”
Arliss reached into her jerkin and drew the twin knives—his twin knives. “So do I.”
Now she had the element of surprise. Orlando staggered back as she slashed at him, meeting his sword with both the blades.
She loved the sheer smoothness of their slicing, and the way the mother-of-pearl handles fit so easily in her palms. But she anchored her mind on her purpose. “Why are you on this train?”
“Why are you?” Orlando sent the question with a halfhearted thrust.
“Because I am looking for my friends.”
Orlando breathed hard, his steamy breath flushing through the air. “So am I.”
Ilayda barely managed to stay atop the second passenger car as she followed Brallaghan across.
“Come on!” he called. “Arliss needs help!”
Ilayda’s palms scraped across something rough and uneven but solidly square-shaped. It felt like a cover of some sort. Ilayda threw her voice as far forward on the train car as she could. “Brallaghan!” she shouted. “Look here! We can get into the train itself.”
He turned around, breaths steaming in the cold air.
“Your father!” she yelled, trying to get her point through.
He shook his head. “We don’t even know which car he’s in!” He crawled forward away from her.
She bit her icy lip. She was done following, having him dictate her actions. If there was any chance of Lord Brédan being in this car, they had to find out.
“I’m going inside!” She dug her fingers between the wood cover and the metal train. Blood surged pressure down her fingertips. Her hair whipped in the wind, half-blinding her.
Brallaghan froze a moment, glaring at her. Then he slid backward to meet her. Working together, they managed to pop the wooden cover from the metal. It flew off into the wind.
Brallaghan gripped the edges of the shadowy hole and jumped. Squinting, Ilayda could barely make out his upraised hand offered to help her down.
Her hearing cleared as she descended into the car. Once below, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the nothingness. The passenger cars should have had several lights, but this one was black as a demon’s breath. Her vision adjusted to the dark, and she saw Brallaghan exploring the car.
It was no passenger car. Tied in the far left corner sat Lord Brédan, his head drooped against his chest and several more days’ worth of straggly gray beard fraying against his dirty tunic. His half-open eyes stared blankly at the floor.
“Father!” Brallaghan flew to the back of the car, collapsing to his knees. “Father, it’s me—I’m here.”
Brédan’s eyes widened and cleared. “Brallaghan?”
Ilayda crept over but remained standing. “We’ve come to rescue you, Lord Brédan.”
Brallaghan drew a small knife and slashed through his father’s bonds. “I’m sorry it’s taken us so long.”
Brédan’s face twisted between a smile and a grimace. “Ilayda, Brallaghan—oh, my dears. I thought I was lost—saved to be used as ransom. How much you must have suffered to find me.” Any hint of a smile fled his face, and he gasped for a breath. “You have to leave. We cannot stay here a moment longer! Thane is on this train. He will capture you!”
Ilayda’s brow tightened. “His assassin Orlando is here too. But so is Arliss.”
Arliss was winning, and had the satisfaction of knowing that Orlando knew it. He had tried to regain mastery of the fight, but the surprise of having his own knives used against him had finished him almost before he started.
She didn’t hold much back. She could sense his hesitation as he checked his every move. He could have killed her if he wanted to—or at least captured her. Why didn’t he?
“Thane is here, isn’t he?”
“Perhaps so.”
She whirled around, somehow keeping her footing. The knives pushed Orlando farther and farther backwards.
“What does he want?”
Orlando pulled his sword into a guard. “Reinhold. Always Reinhold. He will destroy it before you can warn them—before you can do anything!”
She slashed at him with the knives.
He tottered backwards. He was falling. He could not regain his balance or reach the other side, so he took his only choice. He threw himself against the third car and grappled for a hold on the top side.
Arliss grasped at her moment of victory, but she wasn’t fast or cruel enough to finish him. Thane’s sword flashed in the last glimmer of sunset. Orlando severed the ropes connecting the fourth car to the third.
Arliss clenched the edge of the fourth car as it slowed, nearly throwing her off. Behind her, Ríon ha
d just mounted the train and was dashing nimbly across the cars, but it was too late. No number of help could stop the train that shrunk away in the distance.
They had all survived. Neither she nor Orlando had completed their missions.
And now Ilayda and Brallaghan had fallen into Thane’s net. With every cold breath she sucked in, her best friend barreled farther away from her.
Chapter Thirty-two: The Crown
THE CAR LURCHED FORWARD SUDDENLY, THROWING ILAYDA ACROSS the dim compartment. The train now peeled forward at a fantastic rate. Ilayda steadied herself against a worn velvety seat. What had happened? Had they run into something? Or had Arliss…
She didn’t have a moment to contemplate or even to ask Brallaghan what had happened. For at that moment, Thane and Orlando swaggered into the car.
“Welcome aboard the train.” Thane motioned to his left, and Orlando handed him his sword. “I trust you will comply with us.”
Ilayda had never actually seen Thane face to face. She was stunned by how handsome he was, despite the ugly scar that sliced up his jaw. Dark hair was combed to the side and hung almost to his broad shoulders. His silvery eyes seemed to pierce through hers.
She glanced to Brallaghan for support. He glared hard at her, his face burning with anger. As if this whole thing were her fault! But in a way, it was. She had found the entrance into the compartment. Of course, it was Brallaghan’s fault for hitchhiking on the train in the first place.
Thane shot Orlando a glance. “Bind them.”
Orlando roughly twisted Ilayda’s wrists behind her back and shoved her in the corner by Lord Brédan.
She tossed her head back, ridding her face of loose strands of hair. “Where are you taking us?”
“Back where you belong.” Thane paused at the far back of the car by a door which led outside. “Back where you can watch your friends die.”
Arliss pressed her knees into the ebony charger’s sides, trying to force the horse on. No matter how much she urged it, the lazy fellow refused to canter up and match the gallops of the steeds which held Philip, Erik, Eamon, Ríon, and Clare. She grunted, gripping the reins. If only she had her dear ginger mare, Kirras. If only she was back in Reinhold.
Soon enough—if all went well—she would be back in Reinhold. God willing, of course, that they overcame the innumerable obstacles that lay in their way.
Gally had lent them horses and urged them on, advising them to ride across the barren miles of plains that separated Glasberry from the capital—steering far away from Lochair, a major city. Because the train had to lip out west before curving back into the capital, they might even arrive before Thane if they hurried.
“Go quickly and leave the country as fast as you can,” Gally had commanded. “But first find the crown and ring of Reinhold, if you can, or at least find out precisely where they are. If you have something Thane wants, he will be more likely to keep your friends alive.”
Arliss swallowed, recalling these grim words. Ilayda’s very life could now depend on how fast their horses could ride.
Over and over, Orlando’s last words to her blazed in her head: “Reinhold. Always Reinhold. He will destroy it before you can warn them—before you can do anything!” She guessed all too well what that meant.
Gally had guessed it too. Everything was clear now. Thane was preparing for war on Reinhold—wholesale invasion—and would strike soon. None would expect it, except for Arliss and her small band. And that, of course, was thanks to Orlando’s tongue. Had his words slipped, or had he intentionally given her a clue?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to the harbor, finding the crown and ring, finding Brallaghan and Ilayda, and getting out—preferably alive.
The midnight black charger sucked in a full breath and whinnied, finally finding its legs. Arliss’s fingernails stabbed into her palms as she held on, swiftly gaining on the others, riding ever on.
Philip jumped from his horse and tramped across the cobblestone street alongside Eamon. In the early morning mist, several score of Anmórians packed the wide street, on their way to and from the river.
On either side of the road, shops and mansions alike towered—some shaped rather like upside-down ships. Smelly, snorting livestock jerked along on either side of the company of horse riders. Children, all dressed in simple tunics, chased each other on the fringes of the road. Vendors toted wares of everything from candies to crystal.
“Well, we’re here.” Eamon blinked in the blatant sunlight. He waited for the others to cluster around him. “We need to get to my ship. Fiach and Finín will be waiting, but not expecting us at this hour. I need someone to go signal them.”
Clare handed the reins of her horse to Ríon. “I will signal them. Your longboat is still moored at the wharf?”
Eamon nodded. “If Machar’s virtues haven’t run dry.”
Without another word, Clare turned and hurried down the street towards the river road, binding up her hair as she ran.
Eamon turned back to the others. “We have to leave. I’m giving you all an hour to finish the tasks you venture on. Come to the ship whether you have accomplished your task or not.”
Erik crossed his arms through his longbow. “And if we do not return in time?”
Eamon turned away. “We leave without you.”
Arliss handed her reins to Philip and stepped away from the group.
A chill crept up Philip’s spine, and he gave her a wary glance. “Where exactly are you going?”
She strung her bow and slipped it around her chest, pulling her cloak over it. “To find Ilayda and Brallaghan.”
Philip stepped closer until only a foot separated them. “No. I made a promise to your father—a promise to keep you safe. And I really do intend to keep it. It’s half the reason I came on this quest in the first place.”
Her eyes were more pleading than they’d been with him for a long time. “I have to find her! It’s my duty.”
Philip shook his head. He couldn’t risk Arliss’s life on this venture. “Send Erik.”
She sighed. “All right.”
Erik darted off across the street’s dull stones. Philip exhaled as he watched him go. He had no reason to fear. Erik’s skills as tracker and spy surpassed all in Reinhold. But in this place, he could not help fearing for his cousin’s life.
Eamon motioned to them. “Ríon, find a carriage and bring it as near the castle gardens as you can without being seen. Arliss, Philip, and I will scour the castle in secret. Be ready to ride through the city and to the docks at a moment’s notice. Can you do that?”
Ríon looked like quite the gypsy warrior. He had layered a striped kilt over his breeches, and two short swords hung at his sides. The rope that wrapped across his torso would double as a grappling hook or whatever else he needed. He took the reins of all six horses, looking rather like a vendor of livestock himself. “Indeed I can.”
Eamon turned to go, slipping through a fissure between two taverns. Arliss stepped after him, and Philip closed the rear.
Eamon led them for what seemed like far too long to Philip. The stench of the backstreets and slums contrasted with the elegant, precise architecture of the castle and river areas. After minutes of shoving through a maze of constricting alleys, Philip stumbled back out into bright sunlight. The castle gardens gleamed with verdant grasses and trees only a bowshot away.
Philip stepped alongside Arliss. “Do you know what you want to find and where it might be?”
Arliss blinked, focusing on the garden entrances. “I know who I don’t want to find.”
“Where is everyone?” Arliss whispered the question to Eamon as they paced down the hallway from the south wing to the east. Thus far, they had neither seen nor heard a living soul—not in the garden, nor the open back entrance, nor the glass-roofed halls.
Eamon stayed to the side in the overhanging shadows beneath unlit sconces. “It’s Sunday. Some will just be returning from their mockery of church. The royalty and nobil
ity will be sitting down to a feast of some sort.”
“So they claim to worship God, then?”
Eamon snorted. “The word ‘claim’ covers it, all right. In all reality, they worship only one thing: themselves. God is nothing more than a name to them.”
“You seem to have been closely allied to them. Is it that way for you, too?”
Eamon growled, clenching around the sword of Reinhold. “No. God is as real to me as he is to you.”
“Then why do you not speak out?”
“Because it would ruin my reputation.”
Arliss tilted her head. How could anyone be so worried about their image that they could not speak their mind? “Isn’t that like ignoring a leak in your ship?”
“Better to have a leak than a shipwreck.”
“Sometimes it takes a shipwreck to make you realize the leak.”
He didn’t respond. They had come to the doors of the great hall—tall, carved, and gilded. Arliss gulped. If Erik’s suspicions and Eamon’s knowledge were trustworthy, the crown of her people lay hidden in this very hall.
Eamon poised his hands on the doorhandles. “Weapons at ready. Do not provoke a fight unless at my command.”
Philip drew his sword from his scabbard with a shimmering noise. Arliss gave her bowstring a good pluck before setting a shaft to it.
Eamon drank in a full breath and pushed open the doors.
The room inside was draped in relative darkness, the floors and pillars barely visible in the vast, unlit room. How different it looked, emptied of people and music and food and lights! And how easy it would be for someone to hide in such an enormous swath of shadows. Arliss steeled herself and followed Eamon and Philip into the hall.
She took shallow steps all the way down the carpeted path to the empty thrones. The long rug might as well have been made of glass for all the care they took. Once the carpet ended, the three sets of footsteps sounded like hammers in the room’s circulating echoes. Every step felt painful, impossible, and it seemed to Arliss they would never reach the end of the room.