by S D Smith
“Our father was not the oldest, brother,” Whit said. “You had a chance to be better than Uncle Bleston and accept the decision Father made. But you were only too eager to assume a hollow throne and accept a false crown.”
“The bearer of the Green Ember is dead,” Winslow answered, “and so I am right to rule, by all accounts. It is settled. No more troubles. Rabbitkind can unite behind my outlook, first envisioned by Ambassador Longtreader, for a new world based on peace and prosperity for all. But why are you here?”
“You are wrong,” Whit said. “There is an heir. Peace with Morbin is slavery and degradation for rabbits.”
“My patience is at an end, my sad little brother,” Winslow said. “I say again, and for the last time, why are you here?”
“I will trouble you no further. We will share our message,” Whit said, “and I invite the Lord Captain of Her Royal Highness’s Army to bring it.” He bowed to Helmer, who stepped forward. Winslow’s face showed recognition now, and then a spreading alarm. Helmer, a dismissive frown on his face, reached inside his cloak. At this action, the guards, along with Daggler, grabbed at their swords, and Winslow staggered backward with a fragile gasp, his wine-stained shirt looking like a wound. Helmer drew out a scroll, still frowning, and began to unroll it as the tension eased a little.
“So says Princess Emma, heir of all Natalia and rightful bearer of the Green Ember,” Helmer began. “To the usurper’s marionette, Winslow the Coward, greetings. You were once my elder brother, but I disown you. I disinherit you and will soon turn you out of the palace you have stolen.” Helmer read this first part of the letter looking at the paper, but soon enough his eyes rose to meet those of Winslow, and he spoke the message straight to the wide-eyed rabbit’s face. He had it by heart. “Your time for pretended rule is at an end. Your savage policies are overturned. When the sun sets tonight, I will have made an end of your intrigues with our enemies, and rule shall be returned to its rightful place in rabbitkind. You are warned, therefore. Fly before my wrath, Winslow Coward. Or stay and face it, I beg. But know this. The reckoning that has long haunted your steps will this day overtake you and strike the pretended crown from your head.” Helmer paused. “So says my princess, and my message is ended.” He made a curt bow, then retreated to stand beside Whit again. Picket kept his steady eyes on Daggler, whose fierce anger was stoked beneath a mask of haughty reproof.
“What can you be at?” Prince Winslow asked, his face showing a mix of confusion and fear. “Is this a jest, Whitbie?”
Whit glanced over at Picket, who shook his head coldly. “I assure you, it is not,” Picket said.
“This part is not in the letter,” Helmer said, cold and ruthless. He pointed at Daggler. “You and I will meet this day, and you will never see another sunrise.”
“I will hang you by the feet and beat the life from you—” Daggler began, ripping free his sword and stepping forward. Helmer did not move.
“Stop, Daggler,” Winslow said. “My brother has safe conduct here for himself and his guests. But I ask you now,” he went on, turning to Whit, “to leave my house this instant.”
Whit nodded, then turned and walked back toward the stairs. Picket and Helmer followed him at his right and left, and they walked down the steps with no great haste. They quit the steps and marched out the door, their faces grave and contemptuous.
“Will they come?” Picket whispered after they passed the gathered soldiers at the gate and were back on the path toward the woods.
“I hope so,” Whit answered.
“Even if they don’t,” Helmer said, smiling, “that felt good.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
THE RATTLING
Picket never turned around, but he could feel they were being followed. They moved as fast as they could with Helmer’s bad leg. Rounding a bend, they dove for the cover of a hollow in a thicket, while three rabbits dressed just as they were appeared and continued along the path. Picket peeked out a thin opening in the hollow and watched as Captain Daggler’s band walked past not long after.
“They bought it,” Whit said.
“I suppose,” Helmer replied, peeking out at the creeping band. “Though that fake Helmer’s limping a little too much.”
“Hopefully he won’t crack a smile,” Picket said.
“Let’s go,” Whit said.
In a few minutes they were at a safe house near the square, and they followed Whit down stone stairs into a dim basement.
“You made it!” Weezie said, rushing up to them. “We were so worried.” Airen nodded and hugged her brother.
“Did you stoke a fire, friend Whit?” Captain Moonlight asked, smiling eagerly.
Whit glanced around the room and nodded. “I think it was more like blastpowder than a simple stoking. Captain Helmer’s message wounded and alarmed my—um, well— Winslow. But Daggler is certain to be coming for us now.”
“Good. Then we proceed,” Moonlight said. Whit nodded, and Moonlight turned to Helmer. “I think you speak for the princess here, Captain. There is no turning back for us now. There will be no place to hide after this. If we fail, we fail forever.”
“For the princess, I say let the end come,” Helmer answered. “Let us shake this place and, after all the rattling clamor, see who is still standing.”
“For the Mended Wood,” Picket said, and every head nodded in steady resolution.
“To your places!” Captain Moonlight roared. The room emptied as rabbits hurried to their assigned tasks.
Picket accepted his heavy pack from Weezie, and they hugged quickly. “I’ll see you,” Weezie said. Picket nodded as Weezie hurried up the stairs.
Picket and Helmer followed Whit through a door on the far side of the basement. This led into a dark tunnel, around a cleared section of a collapsed passage, and then through another long tunnel. After descending a spiral ladder and crossing several more dank passages, Whit turned and placed a finger over his mouth. It was time to be silent. They climbed up again, coming finally to the lip of a disused cistern. What water was left there was brackish and foul-smelling. Picket’s pack was heavy, and he shifted its weight to ease his cramping back. Whit turned again and whispered. “This used to supply the palace, but it hasn’t been used in ages. Almost everyone’s attention will be on the palace front, the side facing the square, and the crowd gathered there. If we break through just above here, we’ll be northeast of the palace, with a short sprint to the trellis. There will be guards, so stay sharp.”
“I’ll be sharp again when we’re aboveground,” Helmer said, grimacing, “and away from this sewer.”
“Oh, this isn’t the sewer,” Whit said. “But I considered that route.”
“Be grateful, Master,” Picket said, patting Helmer’s back and smiling. “You always say, ‘Things will get worse.’ But they didn’t this time.”
“The day is young,” Helmer said, smirking, “and so are you.”
They hurried on and reached the ladder’s last rung, which brought them to a long iron platform. Whit opened a small door, and they climbed through the narrow opening and into blackness. Picket crawled on, just behind Whit, through a low-roofed tunnel. He had to drag his pack, as the space wasn’t high enough for him to crawl through with it on his back. He heard Whit stop ahead and a sound of scraping metal.
“Picket,” Whit whispered, and Picket crawled ahead. In the darkness, Whit found Picket’s hands and pressed them up against a rotting door. “Push!” Whit said in a soft but urgent tone.
Picket pushed. He strained against the heavy door, and he could tell that Whit was doing the same. There was no room for Helmer in the tight space beneath the old door, but he and Whit shoved with an intense final effort, and Picket heard a crack. Soon they were pushing through thick clods and grass, emerging at last into sunlight in an overgrown field. Whit surfaced first, and Picket followed, imitating the prince by lying low in the tall grass. Picket at once thought of the high grass fields of their Nick Hollow home, where he and
Heather had spent so many happy hours playing Starseek. Beyond the grass to the north, a field, and some barracks, there rose the high wall. Atop the wall, which Picket knew at this part was a dam against the large lake beyond, sat a large fort. Picket remembered that this fort was where a large company of wolves was housed. He and Whit were trying to get the cold clods off their fur and clothes when Helmer emerged and began peering around. He frowned at them and whispered harshly, “We’re not going to a fancy dress party, bucks.”
Picket rolled his eyes, but he stopped knocking the dirt free. Whit smiled and whispered, “Maybe it will hide some of my scars.”
“And some of his ugly,” Helmer added, nodding at Picket. Picket smiled, and the three intruders crawled forward. Picket saw only two guards at the back of the palace. They were scouting the perimeter, and they seemed to have just passed the prowlers on their route. Both walked on with their backs to the three.
Helmer nodded at Picket. Picket leapt from their cover and rushed across the gap. When he reached the wall of the palace, he froze, his back to the lattice-covered wall. He was prepared for the guards to turn, but they never did. They continued their course on down the row of old stone buildings while Helmer hobbled forward, with Whit at his side.
“Up the lattice,” Whit whispered, and Picket launched into the effort. He made quick work of it, nimbly climbing high without much fear of falling. What a difference there was between the old fearful Picket and the one who thought nothing of scaling a flimsy trellis on the side of a many-storied building. Everything doesn’t get worse.
Picket glanced down and found Whit right behind him, though Helmer was laboring up the side at a much slower pace. They had walked too much, put too much strain on Helmer’s bad leg for one day. But the stubborn old buck hadn’t allowed any discussion about whether he would be the one to deliver the princess’s message. And he climbed on despite the agony in his shoulder, his teeth clenched tight and a fierce determination on his face.
Picket reached the rooftop at last and slid over the lip of the dizzying edge. A guard was keeping careless watch near the ledge, and he observed Picket coming over the top with a stunned, uncomprehending look. Picket had him to the ground, knocked out, before his friends reached him on the roof. He hadn’t had time to give the alarm. Whit bounded over the edge, and Helmer slid over, gasping as he came. Five soldiers were guarding the far side of the rooftop, all gazing out over the crowd in the square on the other side, not noticing Picket or his companions.
Whit led them, creeping along, to a shed halfway to the front edge. They crouched behind it, and Picket went to his pack. They could hear the noise of the crowd in the square below, the unsettled hum of thousands of voices merging into a common rumble. Then a trumpet, and a strange sudden silence.
“Greetings, on this glorious day!” Prince Winslow’s voice, though more brittle than it should have been at his age, was strong enough to be heard over the silent square. “Today we celebrate the victory of our king, Morbin Everstrong, and the new order of progress and peace he has brought to us.” A slow, unsettled applause began, then intensified. Picket worked on, imagining the soldiers inciting the crowd to clap. He scowled as Winslow went on, praising the vile creature who murdered his own father. “Our savior gave us this city and the gift to live in the light of his kindness. Morbin Invincible is our lord forever! Rabbitkind’s alliance with our king, forged through the brave and noble efforts of Ambassador Longtreader, is celebrated today. Ambassador Longtreader joined us last year but this year will be at our sister city, Akolan, for their celebrations. He sends his regards through me.” More tepid applause, followed by increasingly vigorous cheers.
“We don’t have much time,” Helmer whispered, glancing first at the guards, then up at the sun’s location. “Are you ready, Ladybug?”
“I am,” Picket answered, fastening the last buckle.
“Remember,” Helmer said, “that symbols matter, more than you might imagine.”
Picket nodded, then peeked around the edge of the shed. He couldn’t see the balcony from which Winslow spoke but remembered it clearly from the morning’s challenge. No doubt the prince was dressed in splendor, flanked by guards. He hoped Daggler wasn’t there. Picket gazed at the crowd below, extending to the edge of the square and beyond. So many rabbits. For so long they had been slaves and had been told, year after year, that their slaver was their savior. The center of the square was split by the sacred standing stones, now desecrated by the raptor statues set atop them. Garten Longtreader kneeling was the first statue, of course, and the lone rabbit exception. Then the six Lords of Prey, with Morbin on the last step and the First Warren’s particular tormentor, Falcowit, on the second. And more than merely his stone representation, the snow-white falcon himself was perched atop his memorial. He glowered over the crowd with a brooding woe that Picket felt in his bones.
“Now it’s time to gather all the younglings. We will, uh…bring the young together to…to recite together our vows of honor,” Winslow said with a sham tenderness. A worried whispering began in the crowd, and Picket could sense the hesitation parents had to bring their children forward. “Bring them, now!” Winslow cried. When the murmuring crowd wavered a moment more, Falcowit screeched a piercing command. It was so loud and terrifying that Picket himself, atop the palace and hidden almost entirely from view behind the shed, felt a jolt of paralyzing fear pass though him at that sound. He ducked again behind the shed and saw that his companions both felt the terrifying shiver as well.
“How can we oppose that?” Picket asked, gasping.
“They say the Six have calls that can almost kill,” Whit said, breathing deep to restore his calm. “Part of Morbin’s power is this power to command. It works on their own kind to compel, on rabbitkind to undo.”
“It is a woeful sound,” Helmer said, swallowing hard and nervously examining his weapons.
Picket peeked around the edge again and saw that the red-throated younglings were being brought forward. He ground his teeth together, and the fire inside him, which had gone cold at the white falcon’s call, began to blaze again. He saw that the other sentinels, massive raptors all, were circling overhead.
“As the younglings gather, I am happy to announce that we have at last located the base of operations for the rebels.” Prince Winslow went on, and Picket scowled at the scene as he resumed his post peering around the edge of the shed. Parents were leading their children to the center of the square, beneath the standing stone and statue atop which loomed Lord Falcowit. “Just this last hour, Captain Daggler has sent his best forces to infiltrate and destroy the last desperate scraps of the defeated resistance. Their location, beneath the forest in the remnants of the old warren, has been found out at last.” Picket could hear the relish in his words. These were the confident pronouncements of a rabbit who had outmaneuvered a bitter enemy. “Captain Daggler’s forces are inside now and are no doubt killing off the last of these traitors. Their disruptions are forever ended. Morbin rules here, and everywhere. He is the king of all Natalia!”
Chapter Fifty
THE BATTLE FOR FIRST WARREN
It’s time,” Helmer said, and Picket stood. Helmer and Whit had fastened ropes to the foundation of the shed and held the other side of the long coiled rope in hand. “Are you sure this is the right length?” Helmer asked Whit.
“Reasonably sure,” Whit answered. Then, “You can always go with Picket.”
“No thanks,” Helmer said, pulling on the rope to test its strength.
Prince Winslow talked on and on. “The resistance, which troubled us so much recently,” he called out from below, his voice triumphant, “has been dealt with. The rebellion against Lord Morbin is over!”
At that moment, a large blast was heard—and felt. Picket looked out past the square as the earth shifted, knocking many in the crowd off balance, and the forest collapsed in several places. Picket pumped his fist, and it seemed that in the square below they understood what had happened
. The old warrens beneath the forest had been blown up and collapsed in on whatever—and whoever—was down there.
Picket watched as the guards atop the roof scrambled to the middle stairway, awaiting orders from their senior commanders. He hoped that they would leave, but they stayed. In fact, they were reinforced by a team of ten archers.
“Great,” Helmer said. “It’s worse.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Picket said.
The crowd was nervous, uncertain of what to do. Some began to flee the square while guards struggled to pen them in. Picket scowled down at the brutality of the officers against their own kind, against does and the elderly. He bristled, then tried to calm down by breathing deeply. I have to stay focused on my task. I can’t own it all.
The crowd surged, moving dangerously near to a panicked rush that might crush hundreds. Then the blast of several trumpets and a piercing shriek from Lord Falcowit brought them under control, and something like order resumed.
“Lord Falcowit will see what has happened,” Winslow shouted. “Stay calm! All is well. No doubt Captain Daggler’s forces have destroyed the rebels below.” Picket could hear in his voice that Winslow didn’t believe what he was saying. The prince was worried and unsettled. Almost panicked.
They watched Lord Falcowit and the raptor sentinels fly toward the forest, no doubt to ascertain the damage. Falcowit banked hard and screeched again, then cried out to the crowded square, “If one redthroat moves from this place, I shall release the wolves!”
“Everyone, stay where you are!” Winslow called. “We have not had the wolves set on us here since the afterterrors. None of us wants to see that again!”
“They’re going,” Whit said, watching the raptors approach the collapse and disappear into the ruin.
“Now, Picket!” Helmer whispered.
Picket nodded. He tore around the side of the shed, heading for the now heavily guarded edge of the palace. He ran past the first startled guards, who called out, alerting the remaining guards on the edge. These turned to see a rabbit with a loose black cape draped around his back and a strange series of buckles and belts around his body. Picket wore a sword at his side, but he did not draw it as he sped toward the guards, who gathered to block his approach and raised their own weapons.