Janner shook his hand warily. “Mine’s—Janner.” He searched Nizzik’s eyes for any hint of recognition and saw none. “Uh, yeah. I have a little.” Janner dug through his pack and gave over a handful of dried xynocks and the last few slices of apple. He also insisted that they take the honeymuffin.
“Honey isn’t fruit,” he said, sniffing it. “But it’s close. I thank you.”
“You know, the Hollowsfolk aren’t just going to let you have their winter stores.”
“Why not?” asked one of the ridgerunners. “Gnag said we could have it all.”
Janner had a hard time keeping a straight face. “But Gnag doesn’t have any say in what happens in the Hollows. The war hasn’t even been fought yet.”
The ridgerunners muttered to one another and shook their heads.
“What?” Janner asked.
“That’s not what we were told.” Nizzik looked perplexed. “The Grey Fangs at the borderlands informed us that the new army would invade Ban Rona today. They promised a quick victory. The war should be over by now. That’s why we came.”
Janner felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “What do you mean ‘new army’?”
The ridgerunner smiled. “You’ll see.”
He had to get home. He had to get homenow.
“Come on, Baxter,” Janner said. He jammed the food back into his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and ran, heedless of the amused look on the ridgerunners’ faces.
An hour later, he happened upon the troll.
9
A Fang in the Dungeon
“What is it?” someone cried.
Kalmar hardly had time to study the winged creature because Rudric had already put an arrow through its chest. It fell to the ground, exploding in a cloud of dust. But seconds later another of the monsters crawled through an opening high above and along a thick tree limb.
“A bat,” Kalmar said to himself. “It looks like a bat.”
The creature looked exactly like a bat, in fact, except for the long arms and legs, not to mention the armor and sword. Its wings were retracted along its back as it crawled nimbly on the underside of the limb. It was covered in a light brown fuzz that was thin enough to reveal the veiny muscles of its forearms and calves where there was no armor. But the creature’s face was the most hideous. Its nose was turned permanently upwards as if, as Kal had been warned many times by his mother, someone had slapped it on the back while it was pretending to be a pig. The bat creature’s eyes were milky white and a few sizes too big, like its pointed ears. Its wrinkly face seemed to be stretched in an eternal, evil grin. It was no surprise that its teeth were many and sharp.
As Kalmar watched, the claws of its hands and feet retracted, and it swung down with a screech, spreading its leathery brown wings wide to glide to the floor. Several arrows thudded into it as it flew, and it burst into another brown cloud of dust as it hit the base of the tree.
“Gravy!” Oskar cried. “They’re everywhere!”
Three more Bat Fangs appeared and flapped about near the ceiling, dodging arrows and screeching. One of them spotted Leeli and dove for her. Kalmar dashed to his sister and yanked her out of the way just as the creature sped past.
“Get her out of here!” Nia grabbed Kal’s shoulders and thrust her face into his. “Kalmar, take her. No one here is as fast as you. Go.”
Kal nodded, lifted Leeli into his arms, and raced through the shouting throng for the doors that led to the dungeon. Outside he could see the Hollowsfolk beset by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the Bat Fangs; the Great Hall afforded no shelter because there were now several of the beasts circling overhead and more slinking through the upper doorways and windows. The Great Tree was infested. The only safety he could imagine was down in the dungeon, where they might find a place to hide.
When he got through the iron door he swung it shut and eased Leeli to the ground. He could see her blinking and remembered that her eyes took some time to adjust to the sudden darkness, even with the lanterns flickering on the walls.
He heard someone—or something—rattling the handle and leapt back just as the door opened a crack. The racket of battle poured into the hallway again and a bat-like face pressed itself through the opening, hissing. Kalmar punched it and tried to push the door shut again, but a fuzzy brown arm reached through, clawing at the air. Its long yellow fingernails scraped at the iron. Kal rammed the door with his shoulder again and again, so hard that he half feared and half hoped the thing’s arm would fall right off. With a final heave, he slammed the door and shuddered at the sight of three bloody fingers protruding for a moment before turning to dust. Leeli slid the latch and locked the door, squinting her eyes shut at the terrible scraping and beating on the other side.
“Mama’s out there,” she said.
“So is Oskar. And Rudric. But Mama told me to get you out of there. This is the best I could come up with.”
Leeli grabbed Kalmar’s arm. “Where’s Grandpa?”
“Probably still asleep at Chimney Hill.”
“We have to find a way out.” Leeli started down the hallway, and Kal trotted beside her. “I need to get to the houndry.”
“Leeli, thosethings are outside. They have the place surrounded. Besides, this is a dungeon—there not being a way out is kind of the point. Thorn will be all right.”
“It’s not Thorn I’m worried about,” she said. “It’s Janner. He’s trying to get back here, remember? I need to send a dog to warn him.”
“He’s probably safer than we are right now. Even if he’s close he’ll be able to see what’s going on from a distance. He’ll be all right. He’s a Durgan now.” Something crashed into the door and made them jump. “Come on,” Kalmar said, taking one of the lanterns from the wall. “We need to find a place to hide.”
Then Kal stopped in his tracks. He felt an odd shiver in his belly and the fur on his back rose. He smelled something. Something rotten and sweating, and it smelled familiar. It smelled like—
“Kal, what’s wrong?”
“Huh?” he asked over his shoulder.
“You were growling.”
“Sorry. Just—just scared, that’s all.”
But it was more than that. He hadn’t been in the keep of the Great Hall since his first night in Ban Rona, months ago, when the Hollowsfolk had beaten him and locked him away because of his Fangness. Seeing the damp, stone walls with fuzzy tree roots snaking through them recalled that terrible night and the hopelessness he had felt—and a certain creature in the cell next to his own.Nuzzard, he thought. That was its name. The Fang from the dungeon. It was still alive, still breathing and sniveling in the dark. Worst of all, it smelled likehim. Like Kal.
He felt a familiar wave of dizziness, and shook his head to clear it. He had felt that same sensation, that of falling into a sudden sleep, when he had stolen the hens and hogpiglets for Esben months ago. Kalmar hadn’t told anyone, but some nights he still woke up out in the snowy hills without remembering how he got there. It was getting harder and harder to keep that dizzy fog from taking over.
Something banged on the door again, but this time he heard voices, too.
“Open the door!” It was Rudric.
“Stay here,” Kal said, backing Leeli against the wall a little way down the corridor. He sprinted back to the door, drew his sword, and yanked back the lock.
Oskar, Guildmaster Clout, Nia, and a host of others poured through. Rudric stood outside, batting at the air with his hammer. Several Hollish warriors flanked the onrush of bodies, battling the Bat Fangs overhead to keep them at bay as the corridor filled.
Kalmar leapt through with his sword drawn, but when he looked up he froze. The Great Tree crawled with hundreds of the beasts—Bat Fangs and Grey Fangs, too. They shook the great limbs and squealed like rats. More of them wheeled about, circling the trunk of the tree as if reveling in their victory. One of them grabbed Kal by the arm, snapping him out of his shock. He beat it back with his sword, then fought alongside the Ho
llowsfolk until the last of them were through the door.
“Is that everyone?” Rudric bellowed.
“Everyone in the Keep, at least!” shouted Nibbick Bunge. “Shut the door! More are coming!”
Just before the door slammed, Kalmar watched with horror as one of the last of the warriors was jerked off his feet and lifted, screaming, out of sight.
Rudric jammed the lock into place and pressed against the door, panting, while the Fangs pounded and scratched. “Help me!” he ordered, and several other men, women, and even a few children pressed against the door.
“Kal! Where’s Leeli!” Nia spun him around and looked at him frantically.
“She’s all right. She’s fine.” Kal took Nia by the arm and pulled her down the corridor to where Leeli waited among the others.
Nia squeezed them both tight. “Janner’s out there,” she said. Kal had never seen her so upset. She was usually calm in the face of great danger, but she wasn’t merely afraid, she was angry—at herself. “I can’t believe I let them blindplop him. I should never have let him out of my sight. This is my fault.”
“Mama,” Leeli said, “this is Gnag’s fault. Not yours. Like Kal said, Janner might be safer than we are.” Nia put her face in her hands and shook her head. “We’re the ones who are stuck in a dungeon, surrounded by monsters.”
“Maybe you should have blindplopped us too,” Kal said.
“Next time, please just blindplop us all,” Leeli said with a smile, and Nia laughed a little through her tears.
Rudric pushed his way through the crowd. He was sweaty and covered in flecks of blood that wasn’t his own. “Are you three all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Nia answered without looking at him. Rudric nodded awkwardly and moved away to check on the rest of his people. Kal and Leeli watched him go, then looked at one another sadly.
“In the words of Erwail in Quarvue Cloodge’s excellent animal taleSquirrel Gets Away, ‘Are we trapped in here?’” Oskar jiggled his way toward them with the First Book under one arm, as always. He had three claw marks on one of his cheeks.
“I think so,” Kalmar said. “I can smell Fangs outside. Too many to count.” He smelled people in the Great Hall, too. Lots of them. People who hadn’t made it, who had died because of him and Leeli. He hated the thought of it.
After a few minutes one of Rudric’s men gave orders that everyone was to spread out, and then he informed Nia that they had an open cell reserved for the Wingfeathers to rest in. They followed him down the long, dark hallways, past cells where the wounded were being tended to and where folk were arguing over what to do next. The soldier waved them into a cell, bowed, and stood guard outside. Kalmar and Leeli sank to the floor beside Nia while Oskar paced, all of them listening to the soldiers making plans and blocking doors and windows while the bats screeched on and the wolves howled.
Leeli rested her head on Kalmar’s shoulder and held her whistleharp to her lips without playing. He knew she was thinking about Janner. In a way he couldn’t explain, Kalmar believed his brother was safe.
It was another thought that troubled him, a thought reawakened by the scent of Nuzzard, the crazed Fang. It was a thought that had troubled him ever since he had first been held in this very dungeon: what if he became like the Fang that drooled in the darkness just a few cells away? What if he hurt someone he loved? As hard as he tried he couldn’t ignore the thing’s scent, the constant reminder that it lurked somewhere deep in the dungeon, and it filled him with great fear. Worse than that, he knew that there was a mad Fang locked away inside of him, too, a monster sniffing at every crack, always looking for a way out.
As if in answer, from somewhere in the darkness the maddened Fang loosed a mournful and soul-chilling howl.
10
The King’s Decision
“We need every arrow in Ban Rona,” said Rudric. “Unless we can grow wings like Artham Wingfeather, the only way to fight those flying rats is to shoot them down.”
Kalmar, Leeli, and Nia sat on the cold stone floor of the biggest cell, watching the Keeper of the Hollows command his men. He sat on his haunches in a circle of warriors. Guildmaster Clout, Danniby, and Nibbick Bunge were among them, stroking their beards and grunting assent.
“Sooner or later we’ll come to the end of them—Gnag the Nameless can’t have an endless supply of Bat Fangs,” Rudric said.
“But neither do we have an endless supply of arrows,” Bunge said with anxiety in his voice. His wife and son, Grigory, had been in the Keep, but they weren’t in the dungeon. He hung his head. “There are so many of them.”
“Keep strong, Nibbick,” Rudric said with a hand on Bunge’s shoulder. “Remember, when the Fangs turn to dust, our arrows are no worse for the wear. We’ll need the best archers in the city aimed at the sky, and the quickest runners in the city collecting arrows from the ground.”
Kalmar tried to listen, but his brain was filled with the sharp, unsettling odor of the Fang in the dungeon. Rudric had invited the soldiers into the Wingfeathers’ cell to discuss strategy in case Kalmar had any ideas, and Kalmar was doing his best to pay attention—not because he had any opinion about strategy but because he wanted to show them that he cared, that he was trying.Pay attention. Listen.That’s what Janner would do.
“What about the tribes at the Field of Finley?” Danniby asked. “There’s no cover out there. They’ll need our help.”
“Oy, they might be dead already,” said Nibbick Bunge. “What if there are more than just Bat Fangs out there? Could be snakes and wolves marching in from all sides.”
Rudric shook his head. “It’s too cold for the lizards. Besides, our scouts are vigilant. Our ships have been scouring the sea. The reason we were caught by surprise is because there was no attack elsewhere, no Fangs reported. We just forgot to look up. We didn’t know they could fly.”
“Then where did the Grey Fang come from?” asked Bunge.
Danniby glanced at the barred window. “Likely the wolf was flown here by one of those bats. Maybe a few of them could carry one that big.”
“I only saw a few other wolves,” Rudric said. “Let’s hope that we mainly have the bats to battle. Hopefully the army at Finley is safe,” said Rudric. “It’s possible the Fangs have no idea they’re out there.”
“Oy! If that’s true our army won’t know about the Fangs, either,” said Danniby. “I bet they’re out there dancing reels and wonderin’ what’s keeping us.”
“We need to get word to them,” said Guildmaster Clout.
“How?” asked Bunge.
“The Durgans are more than capable of that kind of sneakery,” Clout said. “Though it’s true that none of our training has taken the sky into consideration. This new enemy changes things. Whoever goes will need to be fast. Fast and sly.”
Suddenly, Kal knew whom Clout meant. And he knew that even though no one looked his way, everyone else was thinking the same. Kalmar felt a thrill run through him. He was the fastest runner in Ban Rona, he could see farther, smell better, and sneak sneakier than Clout himself. And if he went, he could escape this dreaded strategy meeting. More than that, though, it meant he would escape the brain-numbing odor of the Nuzzard Fang.
“No,” Nia said when she realized what Clout was suggesting. “My boy stays with me. He’s part of the reason Gnag sent the creatures in the first place, and if he gets caught we lose more than a soldier. We lose the High King, and Gnag gets exactly what he wants.”
Danniby spoke up. “Your Highness, we have no idea what’s out there. If we storm the Great Hall and are met with ten thousand of those flying critters, we’ll be overrun and the High King and the Song Maiden will be lost. If we can sneak but one Durgan out, and if he or she can get to the reinforcements, then it can only be for our good.”
“Oy, and it will be for their good, too,” Rudric said, still not looking at Nia. “They need to be warned. If they’re caught unawares and out in the open, they’ll be even worse off than we are. We’re r
unning out of time.”
“I can do it.” Kalmar didn’t realize he had stood until everyone in the room looked up at him.
“Kalmar, no,” Nia said with an edge of anger in her voice.
“Mama, I’m the fastest. I’m the sneakiest, too. And besides, I might be able to blend in.”
“I said no.”
Nibbick Bunge cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Your Highness, he’s the High King, not you.”
“Easy, Bunge,” Rudric warned. But he addressed Kalmar, avoiding Nia’s eyes. “Kal, if you really think you can do it, I believe it’s our best option.”
“Mama, I think this is up to me. I’ll be all right. You’ve seen me run.” He didn’t mention that the odor of the Nuzzard Fang was like noise in his brain, and he was afraid he might lose himself he didn’t get out soon.
Nia stood with her fists clenched at her sides. She and Kal stared at one another for what felt like a long time, and it was Nia who looked away first with a sharp intake of breath. All these years, she had been grooming him to be a leader. Now that he was leading, how could she stop him?
“How do I get out, Rudric?” Kalmar asked, turning away from his mother.
“I’ll show you,” Rudric said. “There’s a cellar door that latches from the inside. It should be covered with snow, so the bats won’t know it’s there. It empties into the grove behind the hall. The trees are thick, so you should be able to make it away from the grounds undetected. After that, you’ll be in the open, so it’s a matter of speed until you get over the first hill. We’ll provide a distraction at the dungeon door where we entered. If we’re lucky, you’ll have a few seconds before you’re spotted.”
“I understand.” Kalmar’s heart pounded. He was afraid, but the thrill of the quest was upon him so the fear was almost pleasant. Also, aiming his thoughts at something noble caused the Fang-fog in his head to clear. “Who do I talk to when I get there?”
The Warden and the Wolf King Page 5