The Seventh World Trilogy omnibus

by Rachel Starr Thomson

  The blacksmith glared at the cocky officer. “On what grounds do ye think ye can hold the woman?” he asked.

  “On the grounds that we are the High Police, and she is lying,” the officer said. He moved menacingly close. “And on the grounds that I want to keep her here. Now tell me, Blacksmith, what do you intend to do to prevent me?”

  “I’ve a stronger arm than all your men put together,” the blacksmith growled. “Come into the yard and fight me, one by one. I’ll win the girl from ye.”

  The officer only laughed. “Get out of here,” he said. He turned dismissively from Cam and nodded to the men who held Rehtse’s arms in a vice grip. “Take the girl upstairs and lock her up,” he said.

  The blacksmith hadn’t moved, and the soldier glared at him. “You know as well as I do that this woman may lead us to the one we want. I suspect you of protecting her. Watch your step—or you’ll land in prison just as sure.”

  Rehtse’s stomach sank as the men pushed her toward the stairs. The one we want. They couldn’t be looking for Virginia here, not two and a half years after she had disappeared from the village—could they?

  Behind her, there was a yell and a crash, and the room seemed to erupt in noise and activity. Her captors let go of her, and she spun around and dashed away from them, snatching up a greasy dinner platter from an empty table and brandishing it as she took in the sight before her. Cameron Blacksmith had picked up his chair and swept the most belligerent of the High Police off their feet in one swift blow. Others had thrown themselves at him in a bewildering fistfight, and now he seemed to be at the bottom of a mass of bodies. But even as Rehtse watched, the little man cast off the whole mess of them and triumphantly held up the leader of the High Police by the scruff of his neck.

  “Back off, the lot of ye!” he shouted. “Or I’ll smash the man’s head in!”

  The soldiers, mumbling and wiping blood from their mouths and noses, backed away.

  Rehtse smiled. She wanted to rush to Cameron’s side, but too many of the soldiers were still standing in her way.

  “Come on now,” Cameron bellowed. “Give the woman up. Ye know full well she’s not the one you’re looking for, and I don’t doubt what this rabble’ll do to all your hides if ye don’t rescue him. I know what I’ll do to his if ye don’t!”

  One of the High Police, surly and skulking in a corner, said, “Why do you want her so badly?”

  Wee Cam’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Because it is a shame and disgrace for men to do what ye’re doing. Because I cannot call myself a man if I don’t move to help her. Let that be good enough for ye.”

  One of the soldiers in her way spat on the floor and moved aside. “Take her, then,” he said. “And give us our leader back.”

  Wee Cam waited until Rehtse had crossed the floor and positioned herself behind him, still brandishing the platter, before he threw the leader onto the wooden floor. “Stars know why you want him,” Cameron said. “If any of you decide to quit the service of the dragons in Athrom and become real men, seek me out.”

  He bowed his head. “Good day to ye.”

  With that, he turned and escorted Rehtse out the door. Her heart was pounding, but no one made a move to stop them.

  “Will they not come after us?” she asked.

  “They won’t,” Cam answered.

  “But why?” she asked. “After the insults you gave them—”

  “They weren’t insults; they were truth. They’re all afraid, not least their leader. The High Police on the mainland may be valiant, but those who serve in Bryllan are naught but weasels and mice.” He surveyed Rehtse seriously as they left the yard. “Are ye all right, lady? They did not hurt you?”

  Rehtse smiled. “They did not. The King watches over me.”

  “I hope he does,” Cameron said. “I hope so indeed. And if ye don’t mind me saying so, ye can put that platter down now, lassie.”

  * * *

  A rustle in the grass above Virginia’s hiding place in the cleft of a rock startled her. It was not Kieran—he had gone in the other direction, down toward the inn because he was worried about Rehtse going in alone. Virginia stayed still and silent, waiting.

  The seed pouch Tyrentyllith had given her was in her hand—she had fallen asleep fingering it. In some way the seeds spoke to her. They were a tiny, quiet promise of new life and hope despite all adversity. She tucked it away quickly.

  There was a light shower of dirt and pebbles as whoever had been standing above jumped down, suddenly level with Virginia. She heard his voice as though it came from out of the past—a deeper voice now, older than she remembered it.

  “It is you,” the voice said.

  “Roland?” she asked.

  There was a smile in his answer. “You remember me?”

  She smiled in return. “How can I forget the only young lion in the village?”

  “I tried to help you,” he said. “I ran all the way to the House of Angslie and told the laird about the High Police.”

  “You did help me,” she said, even as his words brought up a rush of tangled emotions. “You did help me. The laird took me away.”

  “Why have you come back?” Roland asked.

  “To seek the King,” Virginia told him.

  Roland knelt before her. She felt his rough hands touch hers. “He is not here,” he whispered.

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He has gone ahead of us to Pravik,” Roland said. “We are to join him there—but first, he says we must both to go to the Green Isle, where others are waiting for our help. He sent me to you now, Virginia. But he is not here anymore.”

  She shook her head. His words were too unexpected, too strange. But even so, she grabbed his hands and held them tightly. “We will go wherever the King sends,” she said. “Roland, Morning Star has come also. I have seen it.”

  His voice was reassuring. “The King knows,” he said. “I am sure he—”

  They heard it together: the click of a crossbow. Virginia waited in her darkness as Roland looked up. He said, quietly, “The High Police have found us.”

  A voice that Virginia recognized with a sinking feeling as belonging to the village magistrate, said, “That’s her. I’d know her anywhere.”

  Roland released Virginia’s hands and slowly stood. “Lower your arrow,” he said. “We are neither of us a threat to ye.”

  The drawl that answered was Southern. This was the soldier speaking. “Strip down, boy. Let’s make sure you’ve no weapons hiding about you.”

  Virginia’s face coloured with anger. Roland did not protest—she heard him unbuckling his belt and dropping a few objects into the grass. But she also heard the sound of the crossbow releasing tension. The immediate threat was, for the moment, gone.

  “I see you’ve not changed, magistrate,” she said loudly. “You’re still just as much the mouse in man’s clothing that I saw you to be years ago.”

  His anger lashed back. “Hold your tongue! You think I’ve done this to you? It’s your own disrespect for your betters, your own strange ways, that have brought this upon you. And for shame—to drag a boy into it!”

  “This may be your last chance, magistrate,” Virginia said, her voice still raised. If Kieran or Rehtse heard the trouble, they might be of help. But she was deadly serious all the same. “The world is taking sides. The King will return—the King of ancient days, the one your mother told you of when you were a wee babe and still listened to the truth. And these soldiers are not on the right side. You haven’t yet sealed your fate. Help me now.”

  The magistrate nearly choked on his own anger. “Help you, you shameless—”

  He was cut off as the soldier yelled and crashed to the ground. Virginia heard the crack as his crossbow hit rock and splintered. Other voices likewise shouted in anger and fear, and she heard the thuds of numerous bodies hitting the earth. Roland’s hand grabbed hers and pulled her to her feet, and he positioned himself in front of her as swords clashed for
a brief moment. She thought she heard a clang—like a metal platter bouncing off someone’s head.

  Yet another voice she remembered from the past said, breathing hard, “Good lads!”

  “What was that?” Roland asked. “Grabbing them and pulling them down like that?”

  “Roots,” came Kieran’s shy voice.

  “Are you all right?” Rehtse asked, throwing aside something that clanged off the rocks.

  “What’s going on here, Roland?” demanded the other voice—Cameron Blacksmith’s, Virginia suddenly remembered.

  “It’s Virginia, Wee Cam,” Roland said. “And I—I don’t know where to begin. The child you sent me to the hills with—well, he’s not just a child. And he sent me here to find Virginia and go with her to the Green Isle.”

  Wee Cam snorted. “I told you that boy wasn’t canny,” he said. “Ye’ll be needing to take ship. I’ll help you find a worthy vessel. The voyage isn’t long. Are those roots secure, lad?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kieran answered.

  “Good,” Wee Cam said. “For those fools won’t wake with their dispositions any the sweeter. And as ye’re all leaving, I’ll have to deal with them all myself.”

  * * *

  Chapter 15: The Sacrifice

  “Michael,” came a voice from the door. It was Stocky, the dark young man, with Lilac at his side. “Are ye ready?”

  Michael and Miracle were in the barn along with the Ploughman, Nicolas, Maggie, and Huss—going through supplies and packing what all agreed they needed for the journey over the sea and then overland to Pravik. Pat had gone out with some of the other clannsmen to gather supplies of a different kind—weapons Jack told them were hidden in the mountains.

  Michael brushed straw away from his shoulder. “Soon,” he said.

  “Now may need to be soon enough,” Lilac said.

  “What do you mean?” Michael asked, his body tensing. If he’d had a sword, Maggie knew he would have reached for it.

  “We saw one of them from the hill,” Lilac said. “With a whole pack of soldiers. Jack and Archer have gone to watch them. They’ll sound the alarm if they come too close.”

  “Them?” Maggie asked.

  “The black-cloaked strangers,” Stocky said.

  The breathless entry of Archer, the straw-haired teenager, interrupted the conversation. He threw himself through the door, panting and pale.

  “They’re coming here,” he said.

  As if animated by his words, Michael turned to his clannsmen in the door. “Lilac, Stocky, tell everyone to head for the mountain. Fire the homestead. You know what to do.”

  “Truly, Michael?” Lilac asked. There were tears in her eyes. He nodded, but he reached out and touched her cheek. She held his hand against her cheek for a moment, and then resolve came into her face and she turned and ran out the door. Stocky was already gone.

  “You’re going to burn your home down?” Maggie asked.

  “We knew we wouldn’t be safe forever,” Michael said. “Our plans didn’t include protecting all the Gifted—only one, and each other. But we’re honoured to help you all. Now listen to me, all of you. Did you see the gorge through the mountains on your way here?”

  “We did,” the Ploughman answered.

  “Head through it,” Michael said. “It’s the only way to a beach beyond where we have boats waiting.”

  “They’ll catch us,” Nicolas said. “There’s no way out of there; we’ll be slaughtered.”

  “They won’t catch you,” Michael said. “Our homestead lies in their path. Its firing will slow them down enough to let you through. Once they’re in the pass, we can hold them for several hours at least.” He hesitated, as though he knew something he wasn’t saying. “We may even do them great damage,” he finished.

  “You’re a handful of men and women,” the Ploughman said.

  “Yes,” Michael answered, his eyes sparkling, “but we are prepared. My father was a brilliant man, Ploughman, a Gifted man. An inventor. Few know it, but it was he who designed the Iron Serpent that runs across the mainland. He invented other things too, and taught us how to use them. We’ve built an ambush in these mountains to make him proud. We only need assurance that the enemy will follow you through the path. And they will. For you—all of you—are the most important thing to them.”

  “Michael,” Miracle said, and her voice choked before she could finish. He held her tightly, with so much pain between the two of them that Maggie had to turn away.

  “I’ll follow you if I can,” he said. “We’ll all follow you—but you must not turn back. Get yourself out. No arguments, Miracle. You know this is how it must be. For the King.”

  Miracle looked up at him. He placed his strong hands on either side of her face and kissed her gently before he looked into her eyes, frozen for a moment of good-bye.

  Archer appeared back in the doorway. His voice was high-pitched with fear. “They’re close!” he said. “And Michael, I saw the leader—it’s the Nameless One! He’s alive!”

  Michael’s jaw clenched. “Go, Miracle,” he said. “All of you get out now. We’ll hold him back as long as we can. The King keep you.”

  “It can’t be the Nameless One,” Miracle said. “He’s dead.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Michael pulled a sword from the low rafters and buckled it on. His voice, his whole manner told them they were dismissed. Maggie felt Nicolas’s hand at her elbow. “Time to go,” he said.

  Outside, a strange, foul wind was beginning to blow shadows across the slopes, and unnatural darkness fell over the hut. In the yard, Stocky and Lilac were leading the rest of their clann. They seemed to be digging something up. Maggie saw the remembrance in all their faces. And the fear. The wind was starting to rattle at the windows and doors of the homestead. A smell came with it, and a far-off skittering sound like thousands of insects running over a smooth surface.

  Ahead, the gorge was a dark slash through the mountains. The Ploughman lifted his voice. “Follow me!” he shouted.

  The smell of smoke came after them as they headed up the slope. The clann was firing their home. Maggie looked back, tears stinging at her eyes. A grey streak of smoke was already rising, and she could see a single tongue of fire licking at the rooftop of the barn where they had just been. Stocky and Lilac were still darting around the yard; the others were scattering to the mountains.

  The Ploughman’s face was grim. Trees grew thickly around the base of the mountains, and he disappeared in greenery. The strange shadows made it even harder to see than normal, swallowing everything up in gloom. Pat appeared suddenly beside Maggie, breathing hard from following them at a run.

  They reached the entrance to the gorge faster than Maggie had thought possible. The Ploughman waited, ushering them in one by one: Miracle, Professor Huss, Pat, Nicolas, Maggie. She hesitated. The Ploughman was looking back toward the little valley.

  “Are you coming?” she asked.

  “I can’t leave them alone,” he said. His voice was ragged. Suddenly Maggie realized he had dragged himself to the mountains, every step against his will. But now his will was winning.

  “You can’t fight,” Maggie said. “We have to find Virginia—we have to find the King.”

  “After.” The Ploughman looked down at her. “Follow Miracle; she knows the way. Take the boat and get as far from this island as you can.”

  “It’s no good if you don’t come with us,” Maggie said. “We need you.”

  “They need me,” the Ploughman said. “What good is a warrior who runs away and leaves children behind to defend his back?”

  Maggie tried to answer, but no sound came from her mouth. Finally she managed to say, “They’re not children. They were prepared for this. Michael is prepared for this.”

  “There are three of them,” the Ploughman said. “Three men and one teenaged boy, and a handful of girls and children—against the Order and a squadron of High Police. It doesn’t matter how prepared they are. They’re going to
die.”

  He looked away from her again, back to the valley, and she saw his jaw set. The argument was over, she realized with a sinking heart. He was going back.

  “Follow my orders,” he said. “I’ll join you before you know it.” His expression softened. “Don’t be afraid, Maggie. I’ll come back. Don’t forget who waits for me in Pravik. I would never abandon that cause.”

  * * *

  The huts, the barns, all that had been home in the little valley was in flames. Michael shouted to be heard over the roar of the fire. “To the mountains!” he called.

  Lilac and Stocky scrambled away from the heat and smoke and followed Michael after the others, all of them armed and surefooted, knowing their way even in the gloom. The young women and children grouped together halfway up, gathering under Shannon’s leadership. Moll and Seamus clung to her waist as Michael shouted, “Head for the caves! And stay there!”

  When they had gone, the young men split up and headed up the hillside, losing each other in the shadows, battling the wind as they climbed higher.

  Michael had nearly reached his destination when a dark-cloaked man jumped down from somewhere and landed in front of him. Michael drew his sword to attack, but the Ploughman’s familiar voice halted him. “Hold.”

  “What are you doing here?” Michael shouted. “Why aren’t you protecting them?”

  “I am,” the Ploughman said. “By fighting alongside you. Where are your fortifications?”

  Michael pointed to the top of the mountains on either side of the gorge. “There!” he said. “We’ve been at work for months—more than a year. We have ways to make the hills fight for us. You needn’t be here.”