The Warden and the Wolf King

by Andrew Peterson

  As soon as the other dogs saw Leeli they barked and bounded toward her. She scratched their ears with one hand while she limped across the hay-strewn floor. “Thorn O’Sally, bested by a puppy.”

  “Oy, I’m afraid so. Look at this!” Thorn showed her three red punctures in his hand.

  “Which puppy is it?” Leeli leaned her crutch against the bench and knelt.

  “Take a guess,” Thorn muttered as he plopped onto the bench with a huff, nursing his pride as much as his hand. “Frankle’s been trouble since he was littered, and it’s only getting worse. The other dogs are starting to take a dislike of him, too.”

  Leeli peered into the shadows and saw the three-month-old puppy curled up against the rear wall guarding a hogpig bone with its front paws. She looked into its eyes and saw fear. Fear and strength. The two together could twist into the kind of blackness that would make it a mean dog, suited for little but a collar and a rope. The strength wasn’t a bad thing, but the fear coiled around it meant trouble. And she knew the only way to save the dog from itself was to unravel the fear enough to cut it away.

  She clicked her tongue and hoped Frankle understood her meaning: “I’m your friend. Eat your meat.”

  “What are you doing?” Thorn asked. “Where’s my hogpig haunch?”

  “You can have my lunch if you’re still hungry. There are bigger things at stake than your belly, you know.”

  Thorn looked at Leeli like she was crazy. “Like what?”

  Leeli tucked her hair behind her ear and beckoned for Frankle’s mother, Yora, to come near. Yora nuzzled Leeli’s chin till she laughed. “Which is more important, a good lunch today or a good dog for the next fifteen years?”

  “Ask my stomach,” Thorn grumbled. Leeli removed a henmeat sandwich from her satchel and offered it to him. He shook his head and stood. “That’s all right. I like hogpig better.”

  Thorn crossed the houndry looking as pitiful as a wet dog. Even when he was pouting, Leeli liked him. From the very beginning he had treated her not like a weak girl with a bad leg, but like a friend. It was the children at school who deferred to her or tried to be too nice who got under her skin. Kindness was fine; it was pity that raised her hackles. Thorn opened the pens where the rest of the puppies were yipping for their training session with Leeli. She tore off a hunk of her sandwich and held it discreetly under the bench until Frankle gingerly took it.

  “Let’s get started,” Leeli said as she grabbed her crutch and stood. She made a series of clicking sounds and the rowdy puppies tumbling about at Thorn’s feet immediately formed themselves into a line and sat at attention, tails wagging so fast that they raised a cloud of dust. Leeli glanced behind her and saw with satisfaction that Frankle’s muzzle and front paws had emerged from under the bench. She thought she detected a wagging tail, too. Good. The knot was loosening.

  Just as Leeli turned back to the puppies, the front door of the houndry flew open. Biggin O’Sally stood in the doorway, panting.

  “Princess Leeli,” he said. “Come with me. Now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I was out in the practice field with the pack when Rudric sent Doffer with a message that we should to get to the Great Tree as soon as we could. Said things were real bad.”

  His face was so grave that Leeli didn’t bother to correct his grammar. “What does that mean?” Leeli demanded.

  Biggin O’Sally shook his head as he lifted Leeli into his dogsled. “I know what Ithink it means.” The dogs sensed his fear and whined, pulling at the harness in their eagerness to run. Biggin looked at Leeli before he spoke, and Leeli saw the word in his eyes before he could give voice to it.

  “War.”

  7

  Call of the Moonraiders

  Biggin took the reins and turned to his son, who stood in the doorway with a look of shock on his face. “Thorn! Find Kelvey and suit the battlehounds. When you’ve finished with that, get the messenger dogs ready and send them to Green Hill Press on Cherry Lane.”

  But Thorn’s feet were frozen. He and the puppies looked equally dismayed.

  “Now, boy!”

  Thorn jumped and stammered, “Yes sir,” then bustled the puppies back into their pen.

  The houndmaster shook the reins and whistled. As the dogs barked and lunged forward, Leeli had the terrible feeling that this was the last time she might see Thorn, or the houndry, or the dogs she loved so much. Biggin’s fear meant that something unforeseen had happened, and she was afraid to ask what it was.

  The Hollish army was supposed to invade Gnag the Nameless’s stronghold, not the other way around. She couldn’t imagine how the Fangs could make it past the sentries at the Watercraw, or the lookouts stationed on the edges of the Green Hollows, or even past the ships that scoured the Dark Sea of Darkness for sign of a Fang invasion. The grim look on Biggin’s face—his moustache was drawn so low it looked like it might fall off—told her not to ask.

  The sled hissed through the gates of the Guildling Hall and down the hill to Ban Rona. When they arrived, it seemed that the whole city was crammed into the Great Hall, just as it had been for Kalmar’s trial many months ago, except that this time everyone was eerily silent.

  When those at the back of the crowd saw Leeli, they parted so she could pass. She unfastened her crutch and Biggin lifted her from the sled—something she would never have allowed her brothers to do. Leeli and Biggin made their way forward until the enormous branches of the Great Tree were visible over the heads of the crowd. When at last she saw the platform at the base of the tree, her eyes strayed to the dark handprint where her mother had sealed Kalmar’s freedom.

  Kalmar and Nia stood on the dais beside Rudric and several other Durgans fitted in black uniforms. Each of the Durgans had a bow drawn, its arrow trained on a figure standing in their midst. A Grey Fang. It towered over them, taller and more muscular than any Leeli had ever seen. It was arrayed in armor and wore a blue cape; its fur was a shade brighter and longer than most, which added to its striking appearance. Indeed, the beast would have looked regal but for the hideous snarl on its face and the way its eyes burned with contempt for every soul in the hall. An empty scabbard hung from its belt.

  The Fang turned toward her and sneered. Its voice was as deep as thunder. “The Song Maiden. I cannot understand why the Nameless One frets over such a foul little thing.”

  “Careful, Fang,” said Rudric evenly. “If you want us to hear what you have to say, you’ll have to be alive to say it.”

  “What’s happening?” Leeli said, hurrying to Nia’s side.

  “This beast,” Rudric said so all could hear, “was captured at the Watercraw. It claims to come with a message from Gnag the Nameless, and its lack of arms compels us to listen.” The Keeper of the Hollows placed a hand on the handle of his warhammer and faced the Fang. “Andour possession of arms compels it to speak.”

  The Fang rolled its eyes. “Even without a blade I could widow most of the wives in this hall. Enough with your blustery talk.”

  The Durgan bows creaked threateningly, but Rudric raised a hand. “Let the monster talk. I want to know what empty threats he and his master have for us. Go on, Fang.”

  “I’ve come to offer you peace.” The Fang said the word “peace” with a hint of mockery. “Gnag the Nameless has no interest in the Green Hollows. He only wants the Jewels of Anniera. Give up the three children and avoid this war. That is his offer.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Nia said.

  “That’s what I thought, too,” said the Fang with a chuckle. “We Fangs are all so . . .excited about this war. We would hate to miss it. Now give me your obvious answer and I’ll be on my way.”

  Leeli wondered if it would be better for her and her brothers to give themselves over. Wouldn’t it save the lives of many in the Hollows? Even if they fought the war and defeated Gnag, victory would surely come at a terrible price.

  “Never,” said Nia.

  “Fine, then!” bo
omed the Fang with a wicked smile. “You think your children are more important than all the children in this city and all the rest of the cities in the land. I expected as much—from an Annieran. As did Gnag. Are you Hollish fools in agreement, then? Are you willing to die with your families just to save the Wingfeather children? Do you even know why Gnag wants them? Perhaps he’s merely lonely in the Castle Throg and wishes to be delighted by the company of these threetalented children. Is that worth the sacrifice of your offspring?”

  Leeli glanced at Kalmar. He was looking at the floor, ears twitching, no doubt thinking the same thing she was. Leeli saw in the faces of the Hollowsfolk a great struggle. They hadn’t asked for this war. They had been getting on quite peacefully before the Wingfeathers appeared. There was some truth in the Fang’s words. Perhaps it was time to give up. If there was some chance that she and her siblings could save the Hollows, shouldn’t they do it?

  “Never,” repeated Nia.

  “I should add,” said the Fang with a sigh, “that we have you surrounded. We know you’ve been gathering for war and all that nonsense. We’ve mustered the troll cities of the southern jungles. We’ve conscripted the Pirates of Symia and they’re waiting in the straits for orders to advance. Oh, and the Wanderers of the Woes have united under Gnag’s rule. They needed little persuasion. Not only that, the Woes have made such wiry fighters out of those humans! Gnag hardly needed to Fang them. But he plans to—and with scorpions, no less! They’ll be beautiful. I’m sure you’ll meet them soon enough—if you refuse this offer, that is.”

  The Hollowsfolk shifted on their feet. Even Rudric looked unsettled. Fang Scorpions? Leeli shuddered to imagine it. And if she and her brothers merely said, “Yes,” and went with this Fang to whatever fate Gnag had for them, it would all be over.

  “Why does Gnag want us?” Kalmar said in a voice that seemed very small.

  The Fang cocked its head and studied Kalmar without mockery, without its sneer. “That’s a good question, young one.” Leeli was horrified at the tone of affection in the Fang’s voice. It was as if it considered Kalmar an ally. “Why don’t you come with me and find out? I can tell you there’s suchstrength in Gnag’s army. You know that.You of all people. You and I could outrun, outsmart, and out fight this city entire. Save them and save yourself. Come with me, Fang.”

  “I don’t want more strength,” Kalmar said. “Strength has only ever gotten me in trouble—at least the kind you’re talking about.”

  “What other kind is there?” the Fang said with another roll of its eyes.

  Leeli limped forward on her crutch. She pulled her hair from her face and stood as tall as she could, which wasn’t very. “Stop talking to my brother.”

  The Fang bared its teeth at her.

  “Aye,” said Rudric. “Go back to Gnag and tell him that if he wants the Jewels, he’ll have to come and get them.”

  “If we don’t get him first,” Kalmar said, stepping to Leeli’s side.

  The Fang looked around the crowded hall before bursting into laughter. It was an awful sound. The Hollowsfolk cowered before it. Leeli’s cheeks flushed with annoyance at the people of Ban Rona, a people supposedly renowned for their strength all but quaking in their britches before a single Fang. She knew it was more than just the Fang they feared—it was the loss of their families’ lives, the destruction of their homes. But their lack of resolve made Leeli angry.

  She pulled her whistleharp from her coat and played “The Call of the Moonraiders,” an old Hollish fighting song the O’Sally brothers had taught her. Its melody was fierce and stirring from the first notes, and in seconds the Hollowsfolk found their strength. They pumped their fists in the air and shook the boughs of the great tree with their voices.

  Ride like the moon in the starfield

  Silver and fine, silver and fair

  Deep in the heart of the darkness

  To shatter the night, to scatter and scare

  The moon, round as a warshield

  Sail the heavens and scale the sky

  Now we dagger the darkness,

  Ruin and doom, Moonraiders fly!

  The Fang’s ears flattened and it snarled, first at the assembly and then at Leeli, who stared unflinchingly at the beast as she played. The Fang covered its ears and writhed as if the melody were a poison in its brain. Finally it could bear the song no more and it flung itself at Leeli.

  The Durgans loosed their arrows. Leeli screamed. The furry hulk raced toward her as arrows thunked into its hide. Leeli curled into a ball, waiting for an impact that never came.

  She opened her eyes amidst the cries of alarm and saw Kalmar standing between her and the Fang, sword drawn. The Fang was dead, headless and prone. Seconds later it crackled into dust and clumps of fur that lifted gently into the air, along with cheers from the Hollowsfolk.

  Leeli wiped her eyes, which were leaking against her will, and hugged her brother. Her heart was troubled, and she could see the same in Kalmar’s eyes. “People are going to get hurt. Because of us.”

  “People are going todie because of us,” he said.

  Leeli didn’t have time to sort out what she was feeling because Nia wrapped them in a hug. “That was perfect,” she said. “The Hollowsfolk needed to see that. They won’t give you up for anything now.”

  That was what Leeli was most afraid of.

  Rudric kicked the empty Fang armor. “Well,” he said. “I guess Gnag has his answer. War it is.”

  Someone outside screamed. Leeli heard the pounding of feet on the roof of the hall. Through the tall windows she saw shapes in the sky, like a flock of wheeling buzzards. Then with a piercing shriek a creature burst through the leafless branches of the great tree and alighted on a limb.

  And so on the seventeenth day of Threemoon, the first winged Fangs descended upon the Hollows and the second battle of Ban Rona began.

  8

  Territory Dispute

  Janner walked over hill and valley, trudging through snow that came up to his shins. The effort warmed him so much that he removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, happy to feel the bright sun on his skin even as his breath fogged the air. Baxter tailed him part of the time but spent most of the journey exploring. Janner spotted him every now and then as a dark speck on some distant hilltop, nosing through the snow after a hidden rodent or trotting into a valley to investigate a scent or sound. But at regular intervals Baxter would appear at Janner’s side again, either for his assurance of Janner’s presence or for Janner’s assurance of his.

  When the sun rode high, Janner’s hunger demanded his attention so he began looking for a place to stop and eat. He came upon a stand of brush, crawled between the branches, and discovered a frozen creek at the bottom of a cleft in the earth. The snow around the bushes was marked with a multitude of tiny, graceful footprints, probably from flabbits and starbirds seeking water and whatever winter worms could be found in the shadows. Janner slipped down to the ice and broke the surface with his boot heel. He straddled the creek and dipped his canteen into the water and waited as it gurgled full, trying to keep his hands dry. Baxter peered down at him and yipped.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get you some. Then we’ll eat,” Janner said.

  Then, to his great annoyance, his foot slipped from the icy rock and splashed into the water. He shook his boot and sighed, dreading how cold his foot would be once the water seeped through. When he looked up again, Baxter was gone.

  “Baxter?” Janner capped the canteen and slung it over his shoulder, then scrambled out.

  The lonesome stand of brush in the lonesome field of snow was no longer lonesome. Baxter was struggling in a net surrounded by ridgerunners—more than twenty of them, by Janner’s estimation. They looked like a regiment of children bundled in white furs and leather, out for a day in the snow—except for the slings, spears, and daggers they wielded, and the wicked smile on every face.

  “You’re in our territory, boy.”

  “What?” Jann
er suddenly felt cold again. “I’m sorry, sirs, but I don’t think so. I was at the edge of the western woods and have been walking southeast for several hours. Ban Rugan is just a few hours away.”

  Of all the ridgerunners, he found himself talking to one in particular, though it wasn’t the one who had spoken. Instinct told him he was their leader. He was a few inches taller than the others, and he had a narrow face, even for a ridgerunner. He seemed to be trying to stare through Janner’s skull and into his brain. The others were merely scowling, but this one studied him with an intensity that gave Janner the shivers.

  “Your territory begins at the Killridge Mountains.” Janner pointed east at the ridges that rose from the white horizon. “And those mountains are along way from here.”

  “A long way, indeed,” said the ridgerunner. “Such has our territory been expanded by Gnag the Nameless. All of the Hollows, in fact, are under our dominion now.”

  “Fruit!” one of the smaller ridgerunners cried, with a shake of his spear. The others nodded sagely.

  “The Green Hollows isn’t yours just because Gnag says it is.” Janner knew he should have felt afraid, but he didn’t. “And that dog isn’t yours, either. Let him go.”

  The main ridgerunner folded his arms, shrugged, and said, “Let the dog go.”

  Janner was as stunned as the ridgerunners. “Really?” he asked.

  “Yes. We’re here for fruit, not prisoners. We’d have to turn around and drag you back to the camp, and that’s four days from here. I don’t see any harm in letting a little boy and his dog go free.” Baxter squirmed out of the net and ran to Janner’s side as the ridgerunner stepped forward and extended his hand. “My name is Nizzik. Have you any fruit?”