by S D Smith
Just before Picket reached the outstretched points of their blades, he leapt, flipping over them and ending on the other side. The astonished guards looked on because there was nothing where he had been.
Nothing but air.
Picket dipped a moment, dropping near the edge of the balcony, where Winslow cried out for calm. Then, jutting out his arms, he felt his taut glider catch the air, and he rose in an elegant arc.
The gathered rabbits gasped and pointed as Picket flew over the younglings herded in the square’s center. Then he swept up and landed on the seventh standing stone. He stood there, poised beneath the iron-wrought feet of Morbin’s massive statue. The crowd buzzed with an uneasy awe while Picket looked down to see Weezie. She smiled up at him.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded. Weezie was lifted up so she stood on the shoulders of two stout bucks. She ripped the red prey-mark free of her neck and tossed it toward the balcony. Then her confederates produced several small barrels from their packs and carefully handed them up to Weezie, who tossed them high to Picket. Picket caught them cautiously one by one and set them all around the iron talons at the base of the monstrous statue. Finally, Weezie tossed up a torch.
Picket caught it and immediately raised it high, thinking of his sister. “The seed of the new world smolders,” he cried. “But a fire comes first. Bear the flame!”
He set the first barrel’s fuse alight, then leapt from the top of the standing stone.
“Get back!” Weezie called, joined by others from the resistance, who forced back the part of the crowd surrounding the ground beneath the statue. As Picket swept once more over the exposed younglings, the small blastpowder kegs ignited in a quick succession of explosive bursts. Orange flames spit amid plumes of acrid black smoke as the massive statue blasted free from its desecrated pedestal.
The watching crowd gasped as Morbin’s statue rose amid the explosion, then turned, slowly twisting through the smoke, and began to fall. It sped down, knocking against the seventh standing stone, sending a spiderweb of cracks along the outside of the sacred pillar. Then it struck the ground, half-sinking in a smoking wreck at the stone’s base.
Picket swept around the square, and every eye followed his flight. Winslow, from his balcony, had one hand over his heart and the other covering his speechless mouth. Aides were helping him stand. Picket swept back and landed atop the seventh standing stone, his feet feeling the heat of the blast. He raised his hands for quiet, and, for a few moments, he had it.
“Now, rabbits of First Warren, join your fellows in the fight. Free the younglings! Fight the enemy! For the Green Ember and the Mended Wood!”
A shout rose up, and many things happened at once.
Arrows aimed at Picket just missed as he leapt from the seventh standing stone, now free of the tyrant’s statue, and swept over the crowd in a graceful glide. He saw Captain Moonlight, followed by a hundred bucks, rush on the greatest concentration of guards, overwhelming them at that spot.
He banked back and saw parents of the exposed young-lings surge toward their children, many finding them at once. Others joined in, helping to free and connect the families. Weezie was among them, helping guide the fleeing families toward the safest havens in the city.
A screech in the distance chilled the hearts and arrested the flight of the rabbits. But Weezie and the other resistance rabbits who had infiltrated the crowd worked all the harder to focus the escape.
Picket swept up, seeing with alarm that the raptor sentinels, led by Lord Falcowit, were speeding back toward the square. He glanced up and saw that the fortress on the dam wall was opened, and wolves were pouring out by the hundreds, leaping down the long stone steps toward the short road to the square. They would be there in a very short time.
Arrows whizzed past him, shocking him back to focus on the present danger. He dipped and swerved, then banked to fly over the heads of the largest concentration of Daggler’s soldiers in the square. Many missing arrows found marks among these soldiers, and the barrage slowed while Picket swept up once again, aiming for the balcony where Winslow staggered and Daggler shouted angry orders.
Nearly to the balcony, he looked up to see several enemy soldiers knocked from the roof above and two rabbits leaping far out over the edge. Helmer and Whit held ropes that uncoiled in the air and then went taut. The two rabbits then jerked and swung in a tight line toward the balcony, just ahead of Picket. They swung in, Helmer quitting his grip so he sailed into a huddle of officers, whom he bowled down in a tackling tangle. Whit held on longer and landed gracefully, drew his sword, and set the point to Winslow’s neck.
Helmer stood, ripping free his own sword with a blood-curdling shout. He brought it down on the nearest officer’s blade, snapping the startled soldier’s sword in half. The officer shrank back, but two more were there. Helmer had disarmed one and was near to ending the other when Daggler darted behind him. He drove his sword toward Helmer’s back, a coward’s move that would kill Helmer for certain, but Picket swept in at the last moment, tackling Daggler with a vicious cry. Daggler’s sword fell to the ground behind Helmer as the old captain kept up his alarming assault on his foes, who far outnumbered him.
Picket rose from the jarring impact and saw Daggler scamper away down the stairway. He started to go after him, then turned to see Helmer fighting off eight officers, who were slowly regaining their nerve. Picket leapt into the clash, ripping free his sword and sending it into action at once. Whit had secured his brother in a chair, and now he joined in the battle as the three, led by an irrepressible Helmer, beat back the eight.
When this desperate battle was done and the eight enemies were stretched on the ground, Picket turned back, gasping, and hurried to the edge of the balcony to look out over the square.
Picket’s eyes widened, and his heart seemed to stop. He saw wolves pour into the square just as the raptors arrived back, talons flashing in the sun.
Chapter Fifty-One
BREECH AND BANNER
Picket forced himself to look away from the horrific scene beginning to unfold in the square below. He turned his gaze to the west wall. That part of the wall was past the dam and the lake, and on the other side of it lay the Black Gap, with the Great Wood beyond.
He gazed at the wall, willing it to fall. But it stood, and so at last he tore his gaze away and looked again at the scene below. Most of the younglings had been led out of the square, but they hadn’t gone far. After the wolves and raptors made quick work of the small band of resistance fighters, they would be set loose on the rest. Picket had hoped more rabbits of First Warren would have joined the fight, and some had. Most had fled. He couldn’t blame them. They had been trained to cower for so long.
But Picket had been trained to fight.
He looked up at the white falcon and saw him call out commands to the attacking raptors and the horde of murderous wolves.
Picket sprang onto the banister of the balcony and sheathed his sword. He nodded to Helmer, then bent to leap.
Before he could launch, an ear-splitting explosion ripped through the west wall, shaking the palace and the square. Several more blasts followed, and Picket’s heart leapt as he turned and saw the wall splitting apart and the stone crumbling down in a series of terrific billowing blasts.
“Yes!” Picket shouted. And he heard the resistance fighters echo his shout for joy. The wolves were put off a moment, then resumed their craven assault, while the raptors arced toward the smoking gap in the west wall.
And it was a gap.
In moments, the gap was filled.
Rabbits, in great numbers, charged through the smoldering ruin of the west wall and poured into First Warren. Picket felt hope flooding every fiber of his body, and he gave another shout, then hopped down off the banister and clasped Helmer in an embrace.
“It’s not over yet, son,” Helmer said. “We have work.” Picket nodded.
“I’ll keep watch over this one,” Whit said hoarsely, standing o
ver his brother, Prince Winslow. Whit’s eyes were filled with tears as he gazed out at the army of rabbits entering the city under the double-diamond banner.
“What should I do, Master?” Picket asked.
Helmer’s intelligent eyes took in the scene, and in a moment, he nodded. “The unbroken section of the wall. The enemy has a huge advantage by air with the raptors’ return, but they have left the wall top unguarded. Lord Hewson will know it. We must win those positions.”
“Understood!” Picket said.
Picket saw the wolves turning, at Falcowit’s command, to charge the vanguard of the rabbit attack. The resistance fighters were pressed back hard, but Captain Moonlight shouted for them to fight on. Picket watched until Falcowit’s attention was turned away from his direction. Then he sprang onto the banister and leapt off the balcony, sending his arms out to engage the glider. He swept over the thin ranks of the resistance, calling out encouragement. Then he rose in a banking turn and glided up, losing his momentum just as he crested the top of the west wall. He landed on the stone top, about as wide as two carts, and hurried to look out over the waist-high wall on the outside edge. Just as he reached the edge, a large iron claw swung over the top and nearly took him apart. He dodged away just in time as the grappling hook found its grip, setting a firm hold in the wall. He rose and cautiously looked over and saw that Helmer was right. The army was sending large numbers all along the wall with grappling hooks and rope ladders, aiming to take the heights. He saw stacks of arrows in bundles being lugged up rope ladders behind archers with bows fixed over their shoulders as they scampered up the high wall.
“Come on!” Picket shouted, and he swept his arm toward the city. An answering cry echoed off the wall and into the Black Gap, which was now teeming with soldiers who poured in from the woods. Picket saw a set of stout rabbits pulling an empty cart, ahead of others who bore one of those large crossbow launchers he had seen at Harbone. He thought he might even recognize Heyward among those running alongside in support of the weapon. Despite their strength and haste, it would be a while before they could get the weapon in place. Perhaps too long. His gaze swept over the approaching army.
They must get into the city. If they were blocked out, the vanguard, along with the small resistance, would be routed by the wolves and raptors. Picket gave another defiant cry, then helped set several ladders, easing the approach of the archers nearest him. He ran along doing all he could on his section of the wall, until he came to the part that had been blasted apart. He stopped on the crumbling edge, almost losing his footing, then turned back to the city, to the scene unfolding below.
Surging ahead, the rabbit vanguard met the menacing wolves on the threshold of the square. Picket saw Cole and Captain Frye at the head of the army. Beside Cole, a stout rabbit bore the banner of the heirs of Whitson. The flag flew high, a white field with a double-diamond sign, red, then green. A fierce clash ensued, and Picket struggled to find his friends again in the kicked-up dust and ferocious fighting.
These wolves were nothing like the ones they had encountered outside Harbone. Instead, they were more disciplined and deft than any he had yet seen. They kept together and attacked in well-led packs, then regrouped at barked orders. They were still savage and merciless, but they matched this ferocity with organization.
Picket saw the banner, so close to the front line, and knew that Cole must be near it still. He watched as the banner dipped, then fell, as the massive staff split in two in the midst of a violent clash. It came down, rippling as it descended like a blanket over the fray.
Picket didn’t hesitate. He leapt over the edge and swept down on the battle.
He was flying too fast, and he adjusted his approach. He aimed for the heart of the conflict and prepared his mind for the fight. Where was Cole, and Captain Frye? How could he help them? He knew he could help them most by shifting the battle in any small way. He glanced up at the seven standing stones, now with one fewer threatening statues. Then he remembered Helmer’s words. Symbols matter, more than you might imagine.
Picket’s heart was pumping fast, and he wanted badly to join in the battle. But he banked and swept over the center of the skirmish. He dipped low and, skimming the tops of the tangled warriors, snagged the edge of the now-tattered flag and gripped it tight as he rose again in a curving ascent. He concentrated now, holding firm and adjusting the drag on his flight, and just made the top of the third standing stone. He stood atop the grim stone image of Falcowit and gripped the broken pole as the flag, tattered though it was, streamed out beside him in the wind. He waved the torn banner back and forth.
“For the Mended Wood!” he cried. He heard an answering shout over the din of war and felt inside the fire of the good fight. He knew that all around, from the desperate fighters in the square to the hundreds rushing into First Warren through the west wall breach, the sight of this renowned warrior waving the true king’s banner atop this desecration of a statue was one to set the faintest heart on fire.
Chapter Fifty-Two
A BANNER IN YOUR HEART
Picket stood atop the statue of Lord Falcowit, waving the double-diamond banner like it was a beacon in the darkness and the survival of many souls depended on its light. He relished the moment. Then came a screech that rippled through his spine like ice. He turned to see Lord Falcowit himself high above, ordering an attack that was fast descending on him.
One of the black raptor sentinels sped toward him, talons flashing as he let out a terrifying shriek of his own, causing Picket to almost miss his footing. The raptor was flying so fast that Picket had no chance to sidestep the strike, not if he wanted to keep hold of the flag. And with every eye in the square on him, he dared not let go of this banner.
The shriek repeated, and he saw the hungry look in the eyes of the giant bird. There was no time. He was on him. The raptor raised his talons, poised to slice Picket to bits. At the last moment, Picket desperately swept back the banner and its broken pole, in line with the striking attacker.
The collision came with the bird’s thunderous strike. Picket was knocked off the statue with tremendous force. He barely had wits enough to send out his arms to engage the glider briefly so his tumbling momentum was arrested enough that his landing was rough but not mortal. Still, he rolled over and over on the ground, finally coming to a stop.
Shaking his head free, he tried to stand, stumbling as he did, until strong hands gripped his arm. “Steady there,” he heard. He looked over to see Coleden Blackstar.
“Cole!” They embraced, Picket still trying to shake off his confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You just sent our flag through a raptor sentinel, for one,” Cole said, looking carefully at Picket and breathing heavily. “That was very creative, by the way. And there are a few other things happening.”
Picket’s wits were coming back, and he surveyed the scene from where they stood in the square. “Where’s Emma?”
“She’s coming,” Cole answered. “The vanguard’s been joined by the next waves, and we have the wolves pinned back there, and there,” he said, pointing. It seemed that the battle was twisting in their favor. “Jo’s up there with the archers,” Cole went on, pointing to the west wall, “and they are giving us some cover from your raptor friends. Emma is with the rear guard, with Lord Morgan and Vandalia’s elite soldiers. Father is there as well, acting as field commander. She’s fine.”
“Lord Hewson isn’t leading the attack?”
“No, Pick. Lord Hewson fell,” Cole said. “After you… they didn’t make it back.”
Picket nodded gravely. Lord Hewson—and how many others?—had died getting him and Helmer into the city.
Cole pulled Picket behind an upturned cart and the wreckage of several battered stalls. “Listen, Pick. One reason we took the wall up there—at such a great risk and with horrible losses—was to try to be sure that none of the raptors escaped. We can’t let word get to Morbin this quickly. If we can take the cit
y back, we need time to fortify before Morbin organizes a massive assault.”
“True,” Picket said, frowning. “Our best hope is that Lord Falcowit is proud.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s kept this city for a long time,” Picket said, “and he won’t like the idea of going back to Morbin with the news that it’s fallen. He might stay to the end and fight like mad to keep it.”
“I’m not sure that’s good news,” Cole said, rising to look out over the top of the upturned cart. “Okay, Captain Longtreader. Where to now?”
Picket scanned the field. He saw the rabbit army encircling the wolf army, pushing them back into the square. The sentinels dealt with an increasing hail of arrows as they set in to wreak havoc on the rabbit forces in turns.
“Back into it!” Picket said, and he rose to rush into the fray. But as he turned one last time, he saw a skirmish playing out beneath the balcony of the prince’s palace. Daggler’s rabbits were clashing with Captain Moonlight and a few of his remaining band.
Picket grabbed Cole, who had begun to tear off toward the main battle. Picket pointed. “That’s the rabbit who murdered Helmer’s niece, his brother-in-law, and a hundred other rabbits over the years.”
“Let’s go!” Cole said, and the two friends darted toward the fight.
Daggler’s band outnumbered Moonlight’s, and they were pressing their advantage, pushing the weary resistance fighters farther and farther back. Captain Moonlight had battled bravely on, though covered with gashes. He was on the ground now, and Daggler stood over him, sword poised and cackling haughtily. Picket was enraged and pushed his tired legs to go faster. Daggler rained down a hail of scything slices, each deflected desperately by the valiant rabbit, with less and less effect. Daggler laughed and took a deep breath. He dragged back his blade and brought it around in a windmill stroke. Picket cried out as the blade met Moonlight’s feeble effort to deflect it, broke the blade in two, and struck down the resistance leader.