Ravenwood

by Andrew Peters

  Ark’s eyes focused in on the two bodyguards right behind the King, the same ones he’d talked to earlier. He hoped they believed him. If not, the plan was already doomed.

  There was an explosion and the sky above was suddenly filled with bangs and flashes. The noise made the perfect signal. Ark remembered Corwenna’s words. He hoped the trees were listening. It was the best fireworks display in years. Ark retreated from the balcony and worked his way back through the corridors.

  At the same time, one of the bodyguards whispered urgently into the King’s ear. Whatever the man said appeared to have an effect as the King rose to follow, striding straight toward the nearest door, which opened directly into the empty serving room. Every face in the courtyard was turned up to the sky in childish glee. Every single one of them had missed the tiny fact that the King was leaving the party, except for Grasp. The second bodyguard walked behind, turning once to wink at the Councillor. Grasp was reassured. So this was how Fenestra intended to act! He could now sit back and play the appalled witness when the time came.

  Ark was already in the serving room, hidden in the shifting shadows. He felt the stillness circle around him like tree rings, remembering the first time he’d hidden with Mucum.

  “You talked of the threat to my life and that we had to immediately retreat. But why couldn’t we tell my head of security?” The King suddenly felt uneasy in this gloomy place, out of sight of all the court. His instincts told him that the guard’s actions did not add up. “I demand to know —”

  One of the King’s so-called protectors grabbed him from behind in a bear hug, while the other stuffed a cloth napkin into Quercus’s mouth before expertly tying a gag around it, fast.

  The men were following their orders to the letter as they dragged him to the back of the room and straight up the stairs to the alcove. There was a lull in the fireworks, giving the Dendrans time to raise their cups in defiance of the coming winter. A few seconds later, the final part of the display began. If anything, the sound was louder than before, each rocket showering the palace in golden sparks, the walls shaking to every boom.

  Another door to the serving room silently opened and in stepped two men with sharp stiletto blades drawn and ready.

  “Bodyguards first. Then the old man, right?” whispered the big one, with a scar that zigzagged across his scalp as if a drunk had attacked him with a razor.

  “I know. You don’t have to keep going on at me.”

  “Yes, I do. You’d forget to put yer clothes on in the mornin’ if I didn’t tell yer!”

  “Good evening, gentlemen!” Ark stepped out from the shadows, his hands empty of all weapons.

  Salix took a second to recognize the former sewage apprentice. It couldn’t be! “Wha —?” His shock turned to a sneer. “All dressed up, are we? Black looks pretty good on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The clothes were different but the face was almost the same. “And there’s somefin’ different about you….”

  Ark stood his ground. “Yes. Quite a lot, actually. You’ll find out.”

  “You’ve got bottle. I’ll give you that, you little runt!” Salix said, almost admiringly.

  Yes, Ark did have bottle. It nestled like a hornet around his neck. But now was not the time to find out what it could do.

  “I … f-fort the ravens had ’im!” stuttered Alnus.

  “Don’t look like it, does it?” Salix smirked. “I guess we get to sort the sewer boy as a warm-up exercise. I’ll slit his throat and you can stick him in the guts. It’s what I call a fair division of labor. ‘Ow does that sound to you?”

  Alnus nodded gleefully.

  “I don’t know ‘ow you escaped death, again, but I promise you’ll be keepin’ yer appointment now!” Salix advanced with his knife in his hand. The boy was too slippery for his liking. But where could he run to now?

  “You don’t really want to do that, do you?” Ark leaned on one leg and rubbed his vine-creeper shoe on the back of his calf, trying to get the shine back on the leather.

  “Wot you got to be so confident about?” said Alnus.

  “Let’s just say, it’s finally over for you two.”

  The boy should be pleading for his life, not making threats. Alnus was puzzled.

  Salix was impatient, though. “Game’s over, squithead. We do you, then the two bodyguards, and before the last firework blasts into the sky, old King Quercus will be dining on a bellyful of steel.”

  “And your boss will reward you?”

  “That’s the whole point. Councillor Grasp, the King’s most trusted advisor, is gonna give us plenty of readies after this! He’ll be the main man running this place once Maw takes over. And the Commander’s men can ‘appily deal with the bunch of pompous ponces out there!” Salix flicked his thumb toward the double doors.

  “I’m so glad you explained what you’re up to.” Ark briefly let his eyes flicker toward the high roof and the alcove hidden in the beams above. “It means I can now deal with you.”

  “Oh please, give it a rest.” Salix had had enough banter. He rushed at Ark, blade held low. If the boy tried any countermoves, he’d be ready.

  42• PAYBACK

  As the soldier grabbed him from behind, the King knew he’d been betrayed. But by whom? He’d fully expected one of the bodyguards to slip the knife in, now that they were away from the crowds. Instead, he’d been roughly manhandled up a set of winding stairs, then pushed through an open doorway. So that’s what they had in mind! In front of Quercus, two pillars held up a small alcove that looked out over the serving room below. One push and he’d have been over the edge. A broken neck would cut the King’s reign short.

  One of the guards had shoved Quercus toward the edge. At the last second, he’d pulled the King back and grabbed his head, turning it so that the King was forced to look at the guard’s face. For some odd reason, the man had made the sign of the Woodsman Cross, then put his fingers to his lips, indicating for the King to stay quiet. The whole wide-wood had gone mad. Why all this playacting? Better to have the deed done. His would-be assassin had then pointed his finger, swiveling the King’s body so that he’d been forced to look down.

  At that moment the back door had opened to Salix and Alnus, their blades ready and eager. As the hands gripped him tight, the King had watched the scene unfold in creeping horror. It was like being the only audience member in a play about himself. The treenage boy dressed in black finery did not look like any kind of match for the men. He’d recognized the scar on the taller one’s scalp. But the words that crawled out of their lips like foul cockroaches had been worse than any stab wound.

  They were out to commit regicide, choosing the fireworks for their cover. When they revealed that his most trusted advisors were behind the plan, the King had sagged at the knees, an old man let down by those he loved. He was a parcel, ready to be delivered up to whoever paid the highest.

  And now Quercus tried to wriggle free, but the other guard stepped in, wrapping his arms around his chest like a rope. Again, the King saw the finger raised to lips, silently pleading for him to stay calm.

  The boy below was to be admired. Both crazy and courageous. Would that all Dendrans defended their King so! It would be no battle. Quercus bridled at the dishonor of two trained men killing an unarmed boy.

  “X marks the spot,” a voice commanded. The King could only stare in horror.

  At the sound of the voice, Salix paused in his attack, turning back to his companion just in time to see him look down.

  “What are you on about?” Alnus could see the huge X marked on the floor beneath his feet.

  “This!” said Ark, pulling a lever attached to the wall.

  Before Alnus could even think — not that he ever did much thinking — a pair of trapdoors opened beneath his feet and he was taking his first flying lesson.

  “Heeeelllllp!” screamed Alnus as he plunged down toward certain death, only to bounce back up a moment later as the giant spiderweb beneath
the trapdoors buoyed up. But the second time he fell, the sticky web caught him and held him tight.

  The King couldn’t help smiling. If there hadn’t been a hand clamped tight over his lips, he would have shouted Bravo!

  “One down, one to go!” said Ark.

  “Very clever, boyo!” snarled Salix. “But your treenage tricks ain’t gonna stop me sticking this in your chest!” He came at Ark slow and steady, eyes roving around the floor to check for any more hidden hindrances.

  From the hole in the floor, Alnus whimpered like a child, “Help us get out of here, Salix!”

  “Sorry, mate. Got some killing to do! We’re running out of time!” Salix fixed his eyes on the impudent boy.

  Ark stood his ground. “I’ve had enough of you chasing me, threatening my mother. Worst of all, you took my sister! That is unforgivable. In the Ravenwood, they would have killed you. But Warden Goodwoody pleaded for your miserable little lives.”

  The King wondered what on wood the boy was going on about. The Ravenwood? That was the stuff of far tales, surely?

  Salix felt his confidence returning. One more step and his knife would cut short the boy’s confidence. “If I’d had the order, I’d have happily garotted the little screaming brat. Time to take you on a journey to the River Sticks!”

  His weapon hand reached out and —

  A girl appeared from behind a curtain. She was taller than everyone in the room and as bald as a raven’s egg. “Moi turn now!” she said. “Yippee! Our stupid friend be standin’ in the roight place. Do it, boys!”

  Before Salix could even wonder who the strange girl was, before he could plunge his blade into the boy’s body, he felt an intense pain shoot through his right foot.

  The King could only marvel at the engineering involved. Through twelve small holes in the floor, a circle of long heartwood staves plunged upward, creating an instant circular cage, surrounding every part of Salix. Except for a limb that unfortunately stood in the way.

  “Arrghhhhhh!” he screamed, watching in disbelief as the sharpened pole shot up, right through the middle of his foot. “I’m in agony!”

  “Then you shouldn’t have put your foot in it, in the first place!” countered Ark.

  “Oi be shocked!” joined in Flo. “Be that another joke from the most serious Master Malikum?”

  “I think it was!” said Ark. Maybe Corwenna was right. Humor could achieve victory after all. Mucum had been onto something from the go. Ark felt giddy with joy. They’d done it!

  By now, a pool of blood had spread around Salix’s legs. The strong man crumbled. “I’m gonna die!” he wailed.

  “Stop whining!” said Ark. “It’s a scratch. I’m sure the King will want you to live long enough to face justice. After that, I wouldn’t fancy your chances!” He suddenly looked up at the alcove. “Let him go.”

  The King was freed, the gag pulled from his mouth. The bodyguards gently guided him down the twisting stairs, helping him as he stumbled.

  The two loyal bodyguards stepped away as the boy bowed deeply. “Your Majesty! Sorry I had to put you through this! It was the only way I could provide evidence of the traitors surrounding you.”

  Quercus was both amazed and saddened. Only five minutes ago, he had been enjoying the feast, feeling glad that he could give back to his people some small reward after a summer of hard work in the scaffields. His right-hand man had assured him that the country was safe. Every word was like bark stripped from a branch to reveal a different, starker truth underneath. “Who are you? How did you find out about this plot?”

  “I am one of your subjects, my lord. You should see for yourself how we live, clinging to the edge of Hellebore. A sewage worker’s lot is a hard one.”

  The boy had lost his respectful tone. But Quercus could hardly complain. His life had just been saved. “I’ll never criticize a plumber again. The way you took on those two” — he paused—”common criminals was ingenious!”

  The two bodyguards watched in awe as the wooden cage suddenly withdrew into the floor again, leaving Salix unconscious on the ground. Flo had already taken a pile of the cloth napkins from the table to try and staunch the flow of blood, though Salix didn’t deserve her care.

  Ark didn’t have time for compliments. “I was working on a clogged toilet at the Councillor’s house when I overheard Grasp talking with the secret envoy of Maw. They would take this country of Arborium and reduce it to a slave factory for wood and gas.”

  Shock was piled on shock. Quercus ran his fingers through his gray hair, pacing up and down. The boasting of Alnus and Salix suddenly made appalling sense. “This is terrible news. You must tell me everything.”

  Ark looked to the outer doors as if he expected trouble. “There is no time for explanation. Your failed assassins were dogsbodies, but they are backed up by great force. As you have already heard, your commander is no longer loyal to you. Your rule has let the country fall into disarray.”

  “How dare you?” said the King, his cheeks suffusing with anger.

  Ark’s green eyes turned cold. “I have stared into the heart of a mealworm, ridden on the back of a raven, and slipped past your guards like a ghost. I do dare.” A chill descended into the room as Ark’s words rang out. “Something true has been lost. Are you willing to fight to regain it?”

  The King stroked his beard. When strange wisdom sprouted from the lips of boys, it might be wise to take heed. “I have been stuck in the palace for too long. Perhaps I have forgotten what the wood means to us all. I have been too complacent, ceding to others’ words and priorities for too long.” Quercus took himself in hand. “But I cannot put things right if all is lost this night. What do you propose?”

  The bodyguards almost protested. The King was seeking guidance from a mere lad!

  Ark had no such qualms. “You must summon those who are true to you and do it now!”

  “How?”

  “With all the authority your word used to command. The fireworks are done and a massacre is about to take place if we do not prevent it!” Quercus was the best leader they had. It was up to him.

  The King was old, but new energy suddenly surged like sap through his veins. “We are Dendrans, yes?”

  “In your service, my liege!” said each bodyguard.

  This was more like it. “Now I am yours to serve, sire!” Ark joined in. It might be his plan, but without Quercus, all good intentions would crumple like fallen leaves.

  “Moi, too!” said Flo, pulling out her other companions. “Us Rootshooters from the deeps be loyal to the last.”

  There was a pride in Quercus’s breast that he had not felt in years. He drew his sword from his scabbard and strode toward the doors. “To the fight, then!”

  43• TO BATTLE

  As King Quercus pulled open the double doors to the inner courtyard, the scene that greeted him filled his heart with confusion. The celebration continued unaware. Lords, ladies, dukes, and duchesses happily chatting away, feasting on all that the forest and harvest had to offer. Why should they worry when they were surrounded by well-armed protectors, brought back to the castle from the armories of Moss-side? Those same protecters, the King now saw, had weapons drawn and ready to cut laughter off at the roots.

  The fireworks were finally over. It was the King’s only chance. Would his people still trust him? “To arms!” Quercus shouted out across the square as a hundred puzzled faces turned toward him. “To arms! Arborium is betrayed!” Friends he’d grown up with took in the King’s red face, his ceremonial sword never before unsheathed except to pass out knighthoods. This was no pleasing harvest play.

  Grasp crawled under a table, hoping to avoid any personal injury, and Flint, annoyed at discovery, melted into the shadows to remind his soldiers they were no longer bodyguards but butchers in the making.

  The assembled guests turned around toward the colonnade surrounding the courtyard. There were gasps at the sudden appearance of blades reflecting back the full moon. A new harvest, of blood, wa
s about to be taken. But Quercus’s rallying call momentarily checked their advance out of the shadows. The element of surprise had been taken from Flint though the odds were surely on his side?

  The Marquis De-Gall, with a mustache that curled above his lip like creeper vines, and hair whiter than any shimmering cobweb, decided that imminent death was not on the menu. He suddenly swiveled around in his chair, pulling out a dress sword that had not touched action in thirty years. “For the King!” he shouted back. “For Quercus and Arborium!”

  Ladies who were normally more concerned with nose powdering pulled dainty, jeweled stilettos from handbags and stood their ground. They might be surrounded, but they were proudly part of the hunting brigade, happily able to leap across broken branches to seek out timber foxes. Cowardice was not in their nature.

  There was a moment of silence as the two groups faced each other. A young princess, with blond curls bright as sunbeams and a teddy boar firmly clutched to her chest, began to cry. The soldiers were trained to keep conscience at bay. A child’s weeping wouldn’t stop them. As the first raised his sword to strike, and as Ark prepared to give his own secret signal, a strident voice rang out.

  “Stay your weapons!” Commander Flint stepped forth from the shadows directly in front of the King and his companions. His bronzed chain mail gleamed in the light of the gas table lamps and his visor was raised, revealing hard cheekbones and cold eyes. “My lord!” He bowed. “Forgive this intrusion.”

  “I forgive nothing, Flint. You were my trusted friend once. Have you really sold us out to Maw?”

  “There is change in the air, Your Majesty!” Flint spat the final word. “The little people cannot bow before you forever. Safe in your castle, you do not see what is really happening in the wide-wood. We both know the price paid for the last twenty years of peace. And how is such loyalty rewarded? Poor wages and being banished to a cold billet in the armories!”