Birdie ran to catch up with the peddler.
“Then tomorrow or the day after, we’ll reach Bryllhyn and my mother’s house by the Great Sea. Just think of it, lass. We’ll be home.”
PART FOUR
19
Ky shivered and tucked his elbows closer to his sides, trying to trap in as much warmth as he could. The chill northerly wind sighing across the hillside and the mud seeping into his clothes drained the heat from his body, while the pale afternoon sun offered little relief.
Four days on watch, now, for Cade’s little army. Four days of spying on the soldiers rowing up and down the River Adayn, casting nets from the banks and bridge, and eating and sleeping, and all the while racking his brain trying to figure out what they were up to—aside from rowing and fishing and eating and sleeping, of course.
And still nothing had happened.
Ky clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and tugged the muddy cloak tighter around his shoulders. The dripping cloth did little to keep him warm, but at least it offered some protection from prying eyes.
Maybe Cade was wrong. Maybe the dark soldiers weren’t any closer to finding what they were searching for. Maybe they weren’t even searching for anything, just doing some sort of intense river training.
“Hoi!”
Ky tensed at the cry and peeked over the shivering stalks of grass. A black clad figure stood on the shore, shouting and pointing down at something he had hauled out of the water. Ky couldn’t make out what he said, but his words produced a flurry of excitement among the other soldiers. They scurried over like so many ants and huddled around him.
Naw, can’t be.
A quiver of excitement stirred Ky’s stomach, and he couldn’t help inching down the slope in the hopes of hearing better. The grass crackled when he moved, and mud squelched beneath his hands and feet. Sure not the stealthiest approach he’d ever made, but it would have to do.
The voices grew louder as he neared, until he could distinguish individual words. He slithered behind a weeping thrassle bush and peered through the tangle of delicate strands hanging about his face. Sounded like the soldiers were debating whether they had actually found what they were looking for.
A silver-cloaked officer pushed into the ring, and the discussion faded into a rumble of consternation, succeeded by a deadly quiet. Amidst a scramble of head bobs and fisted salutes, the soldiers backed away, yielding the officer freedom to conduct his inspection.
Ky held his breath as the officer knelt down and lifted something in his gloved hands.
“By Delian’s fist!” A flash of shimmering gold, some type of metal, and then the officer stood, his cape concealing the object from Ky’s view.
A few barked commands sent four soldiers scurrying off, returning a moment later with a long, flat, wooden box and a bundle of cloth. The officer stooped, wound strips of cloth around the object—still, Ky couldn’t see what it was—and placed it in the box.
His toes itched to run, and he fought the urge to break out of his hiding place and race back to the Underground with the news.
The officer straightened and dusted off his hands. “Who was on duty here?”
“I was, sir.” A soldier stepped forward and removed his helmet.
Ky bit his lip to keep from gasping. It was the light-haired soldier who’d nearly ruined Meli’s first apple bobbing run.
The officer nodded. “Well done, Hendryk. The Takhran will be informed of your admirable service. The Second Marshal is due to arrive this evening. Transport this to the Keep and guard it until he does.”
“Yes sir.” The soldier—Hendryk—bobbed his head as the officer walked away, then picked up the box, holding it gingerly as if the least upset would ruin it. “Fetch the wagons.”
That was all Ky needed to hear.
He wriggled up the hill on his belly, taking great care to remain sheltered by the overhanging weeds. Wagons to the Keep. Given that the dark soldiers would want to travel quickly through the afternoon crowds, there was only one route the heavy wagons could take.
And that was where the Underground would be waiting.
He reached the top of the slope and scrambled halfway down the other side on hands and knees before lurching to his feet and breaking into a full run. He should have about fifteen minutes before the wagons were loaded and ready to travel. Time enough to alert Cade and get into place.
This would prove a fine feather in his cap! Cade’s treasure discovered on his watch. His previous misgivings about Cade’s plan faded beneath the drumming of his feet against the ground. Cade would smile proudly when he heard the news, clap him on the back, and make him one of his captains.
And that, of course, would be pleasant, but not nearly as pleasant as watching Dizzier’s smirk fizzle into disappointment as he, Ky, won Cade’s approval . . .
. . . and destroyed the Underground.
The thought crashed into his mind, and Ky staggered to a halt, breathing hard, in the middle of a field with the slope behind him and the city walls ahead. That’s what this would do—destroy the Underground. Cade would start his so-called war against the dark soldiers, like the famous outlaws of old, and it wouldn’t end until some of them—maybe all of them—were killed.
It was beyond his control . . . wasn’t it? A chill sliced through him. Or maybe, just this once, matters were in his hands. He could prevent the robbery from happening. All he had to do was turn around and walk back to the river, allow the wagons to pass unheeded, spoiling Cade’s big plan.
He could pretend ignorance, claim to have fallen asleep on watch. So simple. So easy. Yet so hard. How Dizzier would crow when the “mistake” was discovered. The dozens of slights and snubs Ky had received over the past three years from his assigned “older brother” materialized and assumed physical shape before his eyes, grinning down at him, that cold one-sided smirk that Dizzier delivered so well.
Ky started running. He couldn’t just hand Dizzier more fodder for insults, and if he meant to alert the Underground in time, he would have to hurry. Head thrown back, arms and legs pumping, he ran, until the cold gnawed his cheeks and the wind blurred his vision and a dull cramp settled in his side.
The walls of the city loomed before him. He sprinted the last few yards and flung himself against the walls to catch his breath and plan his next move. The measured tread of a sentry on the wall-top thudded through the stone to his listening ear. A steady flow of villagers, merchants, and peasants streamed through the open city gate about a hundred yards to his left. He could slip in with the crowd easily enough, but it would take time.
Time he didn’t have.
Rattling wheels caught his ear, and horses’ heads bobbed over the top of the hill. He spun to face the wall, sliding his belt around beneath his cloak so the short sword Cade had given him hung in the back. He pressed his fingers to the stone, sand crumbling beneath his touch, and instinctively found hand-holds. A last look over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then he scrambled up, and clung spider-like to the wall just below the top.
The sentry’s footsteps grew fainter. Judging by the sound, he should be approaching the far corner of his section of the wall.
Ky gripped the top of the wall, swung himself up and over the edge, scrambled across the platform and dropped fifteen feet to the ground. The jolt of the landing ran up his legs and jarred his teeth. He rolled backward and sheltered beneath the overhanging platform, studying those who passed to see if he had attracted any attention.
No one so much as glanced his way.
He crept through the shadows at the base of the wall. According to Cade’s instructions, the messenger should be waiting here.
Something rustled overhead.
Ky froze, one foot off the ground. A dark figure dropped in front of him, and before he had time to react, seized him by the collar. He choked back a cr
y and tore himself free, but he tripped over his own feet in the process and slammed back into the wall.
The figure flipped a hood from its head, revealing Paddy’s freckled face and bright red hair. His slight frame shook with uncontrollable mirth. “You should see your face, laddy-boyo!”
Ky expelled the pent up breath from his lungs. At least it wasn’t Dizzier. “What were you doin’ up there?”
“Up in the support beams? Waitin’ to scare you. Grand place for a nap, too . . .”
Then again, Paddy was fond of jabbering away. Least Dizzier might have listened.
“. . . I like this whole “war” business. Far easier than bobbin’ apples, if you ask me.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” Ky burst in before Paddy could continue. “It’s about to get rough.” He rattled off his report, trying to put all the force and urgency he could into his words. “We have to hurry.”
“Right,” Paddy said. The levity faded from his face, and he knuckled his forehead in salute. “I’ll gather the others. We’ll meet you there.” He started to dash off and then stopped and spun around. “Good luck, Ky.”
Ky forced a smile to his face. “Yeah, you too.” Hollow words paired with the danger they were about to face. He took cover beneath a broken barrel and settled down to wait for the wagons to roll through the gate.
Cade’s plan was good, he had to admit that. The Underground leader had carefully plotted out the probable routes, identified potential escape paths, and assigned each runner his role in the raid. He seemed to have thought of everything . . . everything but the possible consequences, of course.
“Make way!”
The crowd parted, allowing a pair of wagons, each drawn by two horses, to creak past. Ky scurried after the wagons, mechanically using any cover that the crowd and setting afforded as he scanned his targets. There were four . . . five . . . six men in each wagon. A dozen all told, armed with swords and spears, but no long range weapons.
The Underground might have a chance after all.
He waited until he was sure the wagons were headed in the right direction, then darted down a spider-web of alleys and by-ways. At last, he stumbled to a stop in the middle of a deserted street lined with ramshackle stone buildings. A narrow alley bisected the street about five feet away and another a little farther down.
He trotted to the first alley and peered down it. All was in place, the barrels and crates stacked innocently against the wall on either side. In the second alley, on the right, he found a pile of straw moldering at the base of the corner building beneath the sign of the hawk. He kicked the straw aside, wrinkling his nose at the musty reek that clogged his throat, and pulled out the sections of rope that Cade had stashed there four days ago.
He knotted one end of the rope around an iron railing set into the corner building, played the rope out across the street—taking care to smudge it with mud so that it blended with the cobblestones—and wrapped it twice around an iron railing in the opposite alley. He did the same with the second rope, tying that one higher up and then leaving slack in the line so that it would lay flat against the cobblestones.
The click-clacking of ironbound wheels pricked his ears. Still distant, but drawing nearer.
Where was Cade? The raiding party should have arrived by now through the trap door at the end of the opposite alley. He studied the spot—though even he had a difficult time picking it out from the surrounding cobblestones—willing it to open and the harvesters to emerge.
“Lookin’ for us, Shorty?”
20
Prickles ran down his back, and he stiffened at the harsh voice. “Dizzier.”
“Yeah. We’re all here and ready for action, so you can stop sweatin’ and leave it to the masters.”
Ky ignored the sting of Dizzier’s taunt and turned around. The raiding party filed out of one of the buildings, packing the alley. He stifled a snort. Looked like even after three years in the Underground, there were still tunnels Cade and Dizzier hadn’t thought fit to show him.
He took a closer look at the runners Cade had chosen—sixteen of them, all clad in dark cloaks, faces streaked with black mud, armed with the crude spears, bows, and slings that the Underground had managed to make. It was difficult to discern their features through the mud, but he didn’t need to identify the runners to realize that these were the oldest and biggest boys and girls.
“Forget your disguise, Shorty?” Dizzier knelt and then straightened suddenly, arm flicking toward him. “Here you go.”
Splotch. A clod of mud engulfed his face, blurring his vision. Droplets trickled down his cheeks onto his neck. He spluttered and tried to wipe the mud away from his nose and mouth and eyes.
“Nope, not quite enough to hide your ugly mug. Looks like you’ll need a bit more.”
Through watering eyes, he caught a glimpse of Dizzier bending over. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve and regained his sight just as Dizzier scooped up a second glob of mud and chucked it at him. He dropped to his knees and the mud whizzed past his head.
“What’re you doing?” Paddy demanded. “We’re about to start a raid!”
Dizzier’s smirk filled Ky’s vision. Anger throbbed in his forehead. His fists tightened, and he lunged toward his older brother.
A firm hand fell on his shoulder. He struggled against the restraint, until Cade’s voice cut through his fury. “That’s enough.”
The two simple words recalled him to his senses, the renewed knowledge of where he was and what they were about to do hitting his mind like a hammer blow.
One of the other runners restrained Dizzier with an arm across his neck. Ky took in the runner’s curly brown hair, blue eyes, and white teeth flashing a dangerous smile in the midst of his blackened face, and recognized Rab.
“You too, Dizzier,” Rab said. “Focus on the objective.”
Dizzier elbowed Rab in the ribs and broke from his grasp. He tugged his cloak back into place. “Wasn’t doin’ nothin’. Shorty here hadn’t put his disguise on, yet.”
Cade said nothing, but his glare must have been a true scorcher. It reduced Dizzier’s blustering excuses to muttering and tinged his face red beneath the layer of dirt. Then Cade spoke in clipped tones, “Wagons are on their way. Everyone to their places. Ky, Dizzier, Paddy, you know what to do?”
Ky nodded. Beside him he could feel Dizzier and Paddy doing the same while the other runners skittered across the street and into the alleys.
Dizzier slapped Ky on the back, “Let’s go, Shorty,” and shuffled across the street to the opposite alley where eight runners were already in position by the ropes, waiting for Cade’s signal.
It was a simple enough plan. After they forced the wagons to stop, half the runners would remain on the ropes, while the other half would swarm around the soldiers to distract them as Cade and Dizzier’s teams crept up, disposed of the drivers, and stole the wagons.
Ky could hear the staccato clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves now. He peered around the corner of the alley just in time to see the first wagon turn onto the street. He jerked back, the roar of his hammering heart filling his ears. “They’re coming.”
The other runners pounced on the lines, four to each rope, all grins and jabbing elbows and muffled laughs.
Ky blinked. Was this just a game to them?
He closed his eyes, forcing his breath through pursed lips, trying to think about nothing at all, but finding his thoughts inexplicably seized by images of Meli and Aliyah and all the other little ones in the Underground who would be helpless before an attack.
Cade’s shrill whistle tore through his thoughts. His eyes snapped open as the lead wagon came abreast of the alley. The runners hauled back on the lines, bracing their feet to keep from sliding on the slick cobblestones.
“Shorty!” Dizzier barked.
Ky jumped into place on the lower rope. Now
was not the time to have second thoughts about the raid. Now was the time for action.
The first team of horses struck the ropes, catching at the chest and knees. They reared back, but the weight of the wagon drove them forward into the line, the impact jerking Ky and the other runners around like puppets on a string.
Then the left horse was down, throwing the horse beside it into a plunging fit. Hopefully Dirk and Paddy would be able to get them sorted out when it was time to leave. But for now, at least the wagon was stopped.
Ky strained his ears to hear the next signal above the racket of clattering hooves, screaming horses, and shouting men. A tremendous crashing and bumping rang out—the Underground members hidden in the first alley had done their work, tumbling crates and barrels behind the wagons to block the escape.
“Now!” Dizzier shouted.
Ky let go of the rope, jumping aside as half the runners snatched their weapons and swarmed into the streets. The four runners still holding the rope skidded forward a few steps under the strain, but managed to hold on.
Cade’s instructions cycling through his head, Ky tugged his sling from his waist and raced toward the second wagon. He tried to ignore the skirmish around him, tried to focus on the objective—wait until the wagons were mostly empty, then take out the two soldiers in the driver’s seat—but the horror of the fight set his stomach churning.
Stones and arrows hissed through the air, clattering off armor, biting into wood and flesh. A sword swiped past Ky’s head. He flung himself to the ground, rolled to his knees, and crouched behind the fore-wheel of the second wagon.
Most of the soldiers were on foot now, fighting the Underground hand to hand. Tilting his head back, Ky peered up at the two remaining soldiers striving to control the wild-eyed horses from the driver’s seat.
Dizzier dropped beside him, a sneer etched into his features even in the midst of the battle. He clutched a broken spear like a club. “Ready, Shorty?”
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