“I mean it. What’s so special about it?” the first knight insisted.
His question echoed inside me. What was so special about me? Of course, no one at the castle could have any interest in a locksmith’s daughter. But my amulet—the windrider—a magic charm which allowed its owner to shape-shift into a sparrow… I had no idea how unique such a charm might be. For all I knew, Lord Fellstone owned dozens… or none at all.
“He likes birds. I've heard he keeps one in his room.” This from the blank-faced knight.
“The crow, you mean?” the largest knight said.
It sounded as if there were more windriders. Couldn’t his lordship spare one or two? Of course not, he was a conjurer, and conjurers had proclaimed only they may perform magic. It was all very self-serving, insuring that no one outside their own inner circle could ever mount a challenge against them.
The knights slowed their pace, nearing a building which I knew to be a soldier’s garrison. Once inside, I would have no chance of escape. I tore at the twine in a frenzy, while the knights halted in front of their commander.
“We have it, Sir Warley,” said the knight holding the net. He swung me around to present to his superior.
Pressing as hard as I could against the section I’d been working on, I snapped the last connecting threads, creating a tiny opening. I squeezed through the hole, my right claw catching for an instant before I managed to shake it free. The grim knight swung his hand to grab me, but I slipped through his fingers and flashed up toward the sky. As I rose above my kidnappers, I heard Sir Warley slam one of the knights with the hilt of his sword, shouting, “Find another bloody sparrow if you value your life!”
I flew across the town square and straight toward home. I told myself over and over that surely Papa was safe. At Lord Fellstone’s command, they’d come for the windrider, and to that purpose they’d captured sparrow-me. Once they had their quarry, they would have left Papa alone. No doubt he was worried, and angry at me for breaking my promise, but I would smooth it over when I returned, and then I would agree to leave Sorrenwood with him this very day, if he wished. Because even if I handed over the windrider to his lordship, I would certainly be arrested for having used it. Papa could be punished too, just for keeping it in our house. We had to run away, I understood that now. Ryland could come with us. He wouldn’t hesitate, once he understood the urgency of our plight.
I landed behind a thicket and changed back into myself. But as I emerged from hiding and rushed toward my house, Mrs. Flanagan called out from next door. “Come, child. You don’t want to go in there.”
I paused and turned to her, my skin prickling with fear. “Why not?” She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. The answer was written in her swollen eyes and care-worn face.
“Come away, Tessa. Sit with me for a bit,” she pleaded.
“No!” I rushed inside and found the place dark with all the curtains drawn. Papa lay on the table with a blanket over him to his neck, his eyes closed, his face drained of color. I inched toward him, willing him to be alive, not believing he could be dead. I murmured his name, praying he would open his eyes and answer me. Papa. So still and icy with a tinge of blue to his skin. I drew down the blanket, terrified of what I would see. A ring of dark red surrounded the place where the sword had cut into his heart.
A ferocious wave of anger and grief swept through me. Three oil lamps in the room flared up of their own accord. How that happened, I didn’t know, didn’t care. I picked up the blue vase from the table and hurled it against the wall, where it smashed into pieces. I felt like a wild animal, ready to pounce, to hurt, to maim something. My eyes searched the room for anything else I could destroy.
Which was when I saw him, the one-eyed man from the stocks. Calder. He stepped toward me from the dark corner by the tapestry, muttering condolences.
My rage now had a focus, and I lunged at him, beating him with my fists. “It's because of you!” I cried out. It all became clear; it was nothing to do with the windrider. The knights had come to punish me for freeing this man. But Papa must have gotten in their way, trying to protect me. Or maybe… yes, this must be what happened… they believed Papa was the master of locks who had opened the pillory and released Calder. I’d been a blind fool to help the man. It was his fault.
“No,” Calder said, grasping my hands. He was stronger than I expected, but still I fought him. “You think because you helped me? No. No one knew. It’s nothing to do with me. I’m no more significant to Fellstone than an ant under his foot.”
“Then why? Why did they kill him?”
“Perhaps they wanted something of his,” he said.
My hand went to my windrider. I knew instantly that Calder was right, though I didn’t want to believe it. From the moment I flew up to the castle window, and Lord Fellstone looked directly at sparrow-me… it still gave me chills to remember it. And the crow… the knights had said something about a crow… the crow that flew behind me, and turned back when I entered my house. I led that bird to my home, to my father. It was all because of me. I never should’ve used the cursed windrider. Papa was right. Magic was evil. Only I’m to blame.
“We don't have much time,” Calder said. “They may return any minute.”
I didn’t care what happened to me now. Let them return and take me away. Let them set their boarmen on me and hunt me like the prisoner at the castle. I deserved their worst.
“He was a good man,” Calder said.
Tears came unbidden to my eyes. “Did you know him?”
“I did not have that pleasure, but everyone said so. It means something when no one can think of a bad thing to say about you.”
“He wanted to leave last night. I made him stay.”
“God knows, few have wallowed in guilt more than I. Don’t be like me. Come away and we’ll save him.” Calder opened his bag. Inside lay a huge jumble of strange and unrelated items, completely disorganized. He dug into the mess, searching for something. “But Calder, he's dead, you say. Well, there's a way to bring him back to life, but it must be done quickly.” He raised a vial of green liquid, frowned, and put it back. “Blast! Where did I put it?”
Calder delved deeper into the bag. He pulled out a second vial, filled with something blue. “What is this thing that can restore life, you say? His lordship’s dreadmarrow. Oh I know it won't be easy to get. He isn't going to simply hand it over to us. We'll have to sneak into Fellstone Castle and steal it.” He pulled the cork from the bottle and sprinkled the blue liquid over Papa.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“This will preserve him for three days. Otherwise he could get quite stinky. We've no time to lose.”
“Are you serious? Do you really think this dread—”
“Dreadmarrow,” he said.
“Do you really believe it can bring a dead person back to life?”
“There are some who say it can.”
“What does it look like?”
He glanced at me curiously. “A wand of black ironwood. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered,” I said. I didn’t tell him I’d seen it work its magic in healing Lord Fellstone himself. I couldn’t explain getting a private glimpse of the man. I didn’t know how far I could trust Calder, and I’d never willingly shared the secret of my windrider with anyone, not even Ryland. But I needed little convincing that magic was real and that this dreadmarrow—surely the wand I’d seen—would work. Mama had left years ago, and now Papa was struck down. I had nothing further to lose. If I didn’t act, the lord’s men would most certainly return to arrest me and take back the windrider. Calder was giving me a chance to change the outcome—to bring my papa back to life. After that we could leave Sorrenwood as he’d wanted. Of course I would do it. I must swallow my grief for now and take action. There would be plenty of time to mourn in the end, if that was what it came to.
“Tell me your plan,” I said.
ASH
The scribe grumbled upon Ash’s
return, then went back to ignoring him. Ash hunched over the desk that was too small for him, writing each upper and lower-case letter many times until he believed his were nearly as neat as the samples. Having bored of the task, he asked Mr. Ainsworth if he might copy out the page of a book, and in response, the scribe looked the same as if he’d been struck by lightning.
“Goodness no!” he said. “You’re not nearly ready.”
“May I show you what I’ve done?” Ash said.
But Mr. Ainsworth had no desire to see it. “You’ve barely begun. Expect many, many more hours of practice on the individual letters, and then you must learn how to connect one to the other.”
Ash continued another hour until his hand began to cramp. “I should be returning now to help my father in the graveyard,” he lied.
Mr. Ainsworth dismissed him with the wave of his hand. “You may come at the same time tomorrow,” he said in the exact tone as if he were bestowing ten acres of land on a pauper.
Ash set out toward home, where he planned to retrieve his wooden sword in the hope of another afternoon practice session with Ryland. But as he neared the cemetery, his father saw him and waved him over.
Father peered down at the close-set graves of Gerald and Dorothea Skye. “We may have to place the casket on top of them,” he said.
Ash’s insides went cold. “What do you mean?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“You didn’t hear?” Father said. “Donal Skye was killed today.”
“He has a… he has a daughter. What news of her?”
“I don’t know. Of course the poor child must be grieving.” Father glanced behind them to be sure they were alone, and kept his voice low. “The lord’s men claim Donal resisted arrest.”
“I don’t believe it. They’ll use any excuse.” He rubbed his forehead. “I told Ryland to warn him.”
His father flushed with anger. “You…? Haven’t you learned anything? Stay out of such matters.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Ash turned away. “I need to go. I’ll help you later.”
“Stay away from that girl. And Ryland too,” his father said.
Ash didn’t like disobeying his father, but he refused to sit back and do nothing in the face of injustice. Even if the locksmith had broken the law, he should not have to pay for it with his life. Once upon a time, a person accused of a crime had been allowed to plead his case in front of a magistrate. Now, an accusation was equivalent to a death sentence.
Ash found Ryland at work inside the carpenter’s shed, sawing through an oak plank. Ryland’s eyes flashed with irritation when he glanced up to see Ash approaching.
“Can we talk?” Ash said.
Ryland looked over at his master, whose back was turned as he painted a table leg. Ryland nodded and followed Ash out of the building.
“Did you do what I said?” Ash held his hands at his side, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“My parents told me not to get mixed up in it,” Ryland said, looking defiant. “How could I have known what would happen?”
“I told you. You should’ve gone there. What about Tessa? How is she?”
“All right, I suppose.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You suppose? You haven’t seen her?”
“What are you, her mother? I can't go there. My parents have forbidden me from seeing her.”
“Why?” Ash said, without admitting his father had done the same.
“Don't be an idiot. He was executed by the knights of our lord. I can't associate with the family of a traitor.”
“Coward.” The word slipped out of Ash without his thinking. In fact, Ryland’s cowardice surprised him. He knew his friend was weaker than the image he sought to project, but he had believed him loyal to those he loved.
Ryland grabbed his collar and pushed him up against the building. “Take that back!”
“Ryland!” Tessa called out.
Both boys turned at the sound of her voice. Ash shoved Ryland off him.
Tessa hardly noticed Ash as she hurried up to Ryland and threw herself into his arms. It annoyed Ash to see Ryland so misjudged, but he wouldn’t be the one to expose him. He slipped away around the side of the building, but then he paused, overcome with curiosity, wondering what Ryland would tell her. He leaned against the wall, listening in. A part of him wondered if Tessa would need consolation after this talk, and if he might possibly be the one to provide it.
“I'm sorry,” Ryland said.
“Papa did nothing wrong,” Tessa said. “They just went in with their swords, and—”
“Were you there? Did you see what happened?”
“I… no, I’d gone out. I found him when I came back.”
Ash pictured Ryland with his arms wrapped around her.
“I need your help,” Tessa said. “There’s a way to save him.”
Ash leaned in closer, wondering if he had heard correctly.
“Who?” Ryland said.
“Papa. I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“Isn’t he dead?”
Tessa lowered her voice, causing Ash to strain to hear her. “There's magic that could bring him back,” she said. “Have you heard of the dreadmarrow?”
“It belongs to Lord Fellstone.”
“What if we could use it?”
“He isn't going to share it with you,” Ryland said. “You should be at home. Mourning your father.”
“There's no time. I need your help to sneak into the castle and steal the dreadmarrow. You're a fighter and I'm not.”
“All I have is a wooden sword.”
“I have one made of steel,” Tessa said.
Excitement surged inside Ash. A sword of steel. Only Lord Fellstone’s men could have them. Were Tessa and her father involved in some sort of rebellion? He would need to find out more. It might prove the chance he’d been waiting for.
Ryland shushed her. “Get rid of it. What if you're caught with it?”
“Help me,” she said.
“If you do this thing I can't save you.”
“Ryland, please… I beg you.” Tessa’s voice was thick. Ash pictured tears spilling onto her cheeks.
“My family needs me,” Ryland said.
“I need you.”
“I know death is hard to accept, but—”
“I won’t accept it. I won’t! Not ever! If you don’t help me, I’ll do it myself!”
Ash peered out to see Tessa leaving in a fury. Ryland stepped toward her. “Don’t go,” he said.
She paused. “Are you coming?”
Reading his answer in his silence and frozen stance, she spun around and hurried away. Ryland picked up a rock and hurled it at a tree beside the workshop.
TESSA
I wiped angry tears from my face as I left Ryland behind. It had never crossed my mind that he might refuse to offer help when I most needed it. If it was the other way around… if he had asked me to join a hopeless-sounding quest that would mean the difference between life or death for anyone in his family… I would have accepted without hesitation.
I would not let myself think about him now. If I did, my heart would break and Papa would be doomed. I must lay aside my feelings and push forward, one simple goal at a time. If I looked at the vastness of what we had to accomplish, I might weaken and give up before we even began. Instead, I focused on the first task: to find a swordsman. Since I had no idea how to use a weapon and neither, apparently, did Calder, it was essential that at least one person among us had the skills to fight and even to kill, if necessary.
A swordsman would expect to be paid, but I hadn’t brought sufficient coin to entice anyone to risk his life. Papa’s savings were at the house, stored in a lockbox hidden under the pantry floor. Calder had warned me not to return home, but I didn’t see the harm if I were quick about it. I could change into sparrow-me if I heard anyone approaching while I was inside.
I was startled by footsteps running up behind me, but it was only Ryland’s friend,
Ash. He fell into step beside me, lowering his head, his eyes on the ground. “I can help you,” he said, his voice wavering a bit.
I didn’t know what to say, unsure how much he knew and what he was offering.
“I heard you talking to Ryland,” he continued.
“You were listening?” Calder had also warned me of prying ears. I should’ve been more careful.
“I'm skilled with a sword.”
“Right. I saw you with Ryland.” Now that he’d abandoned me, I could allow myself to acknowledge that Ryland himself was no better than mediocre at sword play. Yet he’d beaten Ash decisively. If I allowed him to join our quest, Ash would be worse than useless.
“That was… I was distracted then,” Ash said. "Trust me, I'm good.”
“Even if you are, why would you want to come? Chances are we won't be returning from this.” It seemed kinder to let the prospect of danger dissuade him, rather than to spend time arguing his merits as a swordsman.
“Got my reasons,” he said. His face brightened. “We? Do you mean there are others?”
“There’s no rebel army, if that’s what you’re hoping. Just one other. I do appreciate your offer, but… I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.” I began to cross the road toward my home.
Ash grasped my arm. “Wait!” he said.
“I told you—”
“Look,” he said, pointing at a grey stallion beside a tree just beyond the house. “Look at the saddle.”
It bore the royal crest of Lord Fellstone.
“Quick,” he said. All at once he yanked me off the road and dragged me into a clump of prickly hedges which scraped my arms.
“What are you doing?” I cried.
“I think I know whose horse that is. She's dangerous. We need to hide. Trust me.” He scrambled further into the undergrowth. I hesitated, but then, not quite sure why, I followed him. “You're crazy,” I hissed.
Dreadmarrow Thief (The Conjurer Fellstone Book 1) Page 5