Sara tilted his head back and gave him a drink of water. “You’re still a Throne Warden.”
At those words, Artham squinted his eyes and grimaced, weeping silently. The water dribbled out of his mouth and glided across the bright feathers of one wing till it dripped to the ground and disappeared between the cracks of two cobblestones. That was what always happened to her words of comfort, she thought. They passed right over Artham without sinking in and then vanished.
Borley crawled over and put his hand on Artham’s arm. Then Grettalyn placed a soothing hand on his forehead. The little one named Lola bobbled over and laid her head on Artham’s shoulder. At the sound of his crying, the other orphans awoke and surrounded poor Artham, hundreds of innocent hands patting his arms and legs and stroking his wings, saying, “Don’t cry, Mister Artham.” “It’s all right, sir.” “Don’t be scared.”
Artham’s eyes remained closed, but his weeping subsided.
Then the wind carried a sound out of the darkness, from the direction of Torrboro. It was the sound of oars splashing, of boats thumping against one another, of trolls grunting and growl-moaning, of Fangs hissing and snarling. Above it all they heard the sound of crows squawking overhead, messengers of the coming doom.
Maraly stood and drew her knives as the orphans around her drew their forks and held them out in trembling hands. Armulyn the Bard stepped over Artham and moved forward with his whistleharp in one hand.
“AWAKE BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF SKREE!” Gammon screamed from the end of the dock. He stood with his sword in the air. He turned his back to the river so all could see his black hat and mask. The F and S glowed blood red on his chest. “NOW IS THE TIME FOR COURAGE. WE MEET THE ENEMY WITH STEADY HEARTS, FOR DAWN HAS CONQUERED DARK SINCE THE MAKER SPOKE THE WORLD. THE NIGHT IS DEEP, BUT LIGHT RUNS DEEPER. LET OUR BLADES AND BLOOD PROCLAIM IT!”
Every man, every woman, every child in the market that night raised their weapons and bellowed their defiance of the Fang army and Gnag the Nameless and every wicked thing that ever soured the sweet world. Their shouts tore across the River Blapp and echoed off the walls of the Castle Torr, returning to them like a gust of wind and doubling the din.
As the shouting died away, thousands of eyes peered into the darkness, Gammon’s first among them, straining to see the first of the Fang boats. The splashing continued, the snarls grew quieter, and Gammon shouted over his shoulder, “MAKE READY!”
42
Beholding the Dawn
Gammon and the Skreeans waited, and waited, and waited, but the Fangs didn’t come. The pale of dawn glowed in the east so that the shape of the Castle Torr and the outline of the buildings on the waterfront were faintly visible, but they saw no Fangs. No trolls. The Skreeans murmured in confusion, weary after keeping watch all night. Then someone announced that the Fangs beyond the barricades were gone as well.
“The streets are clear?” Gammon asked Errol.
“Yes sir. I can’t explain it. We didn’t hear them leave. We thought it was part of a ruse, but I sent Olmin out to check the buildings and he found nothing. It’s like the earth swallowed them up.”
Gammon looked from his people to the barricades to the river, and a smile of relief came to his face. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head in a prayer of thanksgiving.
“Are they gone?” Maraly asked as she trotted out onto the dock. “Is it really over?”
“For now at least. We’ll know more as the day unfolds.”
“Speaking of day,” Errol said, pointing east along the Blapp. The sun hadn’t peeked above the horizon yet, but it had lit the sky with fiery clouds whose glory was reflected in the still of the river.
“Behold the dawn!” Gammon shouted. He thrust the point of his sword into the dock and left it shuddering there as he and Maraly, arm in arm, walked back to the waterfront. A mighty cheer arose, louder even than the battle cry in the night.
As the Skreeans discovered later that day, there were no Fangs there to hear it. Errol and a group of his men bravely took a boat across the river to Torrboro and returned jubilant.
“It’s true, sir,” Errol said. He shook his head as if he struggled to believe his own words.
As the barricades were dismantled and the Dugtowners streamed through the city again to inspect the damage to their homes and businesses, Gammon and Maraly sat over cups of berry cider in a tavern called Klert’s Pipe and Pint.
Errol sat down beside them and thanked the proprietor for his steaming mug. “There’s not a Fang in the city, sir. No dust, either, so they weren’t killed. We saw fresh mud on the road east to Fort Lamendron.”
“Then we take the battle there,” Gammon said.
Errol’s face fell. “Sir?”
“The Fangs must be gathering their strength at the old fort. If we can attack quickly, perhaps we can catch them off guard. Surprise them. It would give us an advantage. There are thousands of Skreeans, but many thousands of Fangs. We need all the advantages we can find.” Gammon rubbed his chin. “Maybe you and I should do some scouting. This could be a trap. We’ll sneak out past Glipwood to Lamendron and see what they’re up to.”
“I want to go,” Maraly said.
“No, lass. This is dangerous work.”
Maraly folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Gammon. “Dangerous? Who was it that fought beside you on the roof? And who was it that survived a life among the Stranders of the East Bend? And who is it that has felled six toothy cows and she ain’t yet thirteen?”
“All right, all right.” Gammon laughed. “You can come. Clearly, I’d be a fool not to bring you. Errol, if indeed the Fangs are at Lamendron, we’ll need to strike hard and fast. Stay here, and have all those empty Fang boats dragged to our shore so we can be ready to move when the time comes.”
“Where are you going?” asked Sara from the doorway. Artham stood beside her with his head down. His wings drooped, the tips dragging on the dirty floor.
“Artham,” Gammon said. “Just the man I wanted to see. Maraly and I are striking out into Fang territory. I could use another set of eyes—and a set of wings, come to think of it. Would you come?”
Artham tilted his head and smiled pitifully at Gammon, then nodded. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, and his hands were clenched at his chest. “Only if Queen Sara can come,” he said. “I can’t leave her. Someone has to seep her kafe-kafe. Keep her safe. Yes. I need to seep her kafe.”
Sara forced his claws apart so she could hold his hand. “He needs someone to protect,” she said.
“It could be dangerous,” Gammon said.
“If there’s danger, there’s no safer place than Artham Wingfeather’s side.” Sara squeezed his hand and Artham bobbed his head.
“What about the children?” Maraly asked.
“They’re back at Thimble Thumb’s, and Armulyn is doing a fine job of entertaining them. He says he has enough stories and songs about Anniera to keep them happy for days.”
And so, Sara Cobbler, Artham Wingfeather, Gammon Felda, and Maraly Weaver mounted a ferry with four horses and crossed the Mighty Blapp under a warm spring sun. They arrived at the opposite dock in silence, unsettled by the emptiness of the streets. Errol bade them farewell and took one of the Fang ships back to Dugtown while the rest led their horses down from the ferry and up into the city.
Other than the occasional dog or thwap scampering across the littered streets, they were alone. It was Maraly’s first time in the city, so she marveled at the finely cut stone walls of the buildings, the archways and verandas. Though Fangs had abused Torrboro for nearly a decade, it was easy to see the city’s former glory. After an hour during which the only sound was the clop of horse’s hooves on the streets, they passed through the city gate and followed the road to the east. They passed a sign that indicated that the Glipwood Township and Fort Lamendron lay straight ahead, and the Plains of Palen Jabh-j were to their right.
“To Glipwood we go,” said Gammon. He didn’t notice the way Artham shuddere
d.
They rode hard all day, Gammon and Maraly at the front with their eyes roving the forest to the left and the grass to the right. They saw no Fangs or trolls, though it was clear from the churned mud that they had marched that way the night before. More than one toothy cow mooed from deep inside the forest, and as night fell a chorus of horned hounds howled. They rode south, away from the forest, until Gammon declared that it was time to rest. None of them had slept the night before, and the tall grass looked as soft and welcoming as a feather bed. They made no fire, but huddled together for warmth and fell fast asleep under the glittering sky.
At dawn a mist lay on the plains and obscured all but the tops of the glipwood oaks. They passed around some berrybuns and hogpig strips for breakfast then mounted their horses and pushed on.
“We’ll be there in a few hours,” Artham said, surprising them all with the clarity of his speech. It was the first he had spoken since the tavern the day before. “Glipwood by the Sea.” He smiled to himself. “Such a nice little village. I doubt there’s anything left.”
“You know it?” Gammon asked.
“He lived there, back when he watched over the Igibys.” Sara smiled. “TheWingfeathers, I mean. I still can’t get used to calling them that.”
“In the forest. In my castle,” Artham said.
“You had a castle?” Maraly asked.
“Yes,” Artham said, scratching his head with one of his clawed hands. “I think so. Up in the treeeeeeees.” Gammon and Maraly looked at Sara with concern. She shrugged as Artham continued. “I didn’t have wings yet. Just socks.”
“Socks,” Maraly said.
“Yes! On my hands. It was a disguise.”
“This is very strange,” Sara said. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” Artham said with a wave of his hand. “It all started because of a dog, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Gammon said.
“Everything. The end of the war. The Iggyfeathers in the carriage. Kimera. The Heen Grollows—Green Hollows. Everything.”
They rode in silence. Somewhere in the forest a cow mooed.
“It was Nugget. He bit a Fang. Leeli fought it, and the boys came to help. But the Fangs were going to hurt them, so Zouzab the ridgerunner threw a rock. Then Nia used some Annieran jewelry to get them out of the Glipwood jail, and that’s how they realized they were the Jewels of Anniera—the children, I mean. Next thing you know, the Fangs are chasing them all across Skree. That’s how they ended up in Kimera, then Ban Rona. All because of Nugget. Brave little Nugget.”Artham reined up his horse, startling the others. “Ah! There it is. The Glipwood Township.”
43
The Glipwood Township
The noon sun shone on the rooftops of the Glipwood Township as Artham, Sara, Maraly, and Gammon rode their horses down Main Street. Sara remembered the town from when she was little; years before, she had met Janner and his family there on Dragon Day. They rode past Dunn’s Green, where people used to play everything from zibzy to handyball. But now the streets were as deserted as Torrboro, and some of the buildings on Vibbly Way were in ruins. Of those still standing were Books and Crannies, Shaggy’s Tavern, and the Only Inn, where Sara’s family had once stayed when she was younger. Now the inn was forlorn and empty, with spring weeds growing up over the stoop and entwining the porch rail. Even the cobwebs were old and abandoned.
From the corner of her eye Sara saw Artham twitching. If the little town held memories for her, it had to be much worse for Artham.
A muffled sound came from the outbuilding behind Books and Crannies, and Gammon signaled for everyone to stop. He slipped off his horse, handed the reins to Artham, and tiptoed through the dusty alley beside the bookstore.
They heard a crash, then Gammon’s voice: “I’ve got you both! Stop struggling or I’ll give you something to grounce about!”
He reappeared dragging a ridgerunner in each hand. They wiggled and kicked like children.
“He stole it!” one of them said.
“I did not! You stole it first. We found them together. I stole nothing! They’re not stolen if you stole them first.” A bright yellow ermentine dropped out of one of their pockets and the two little creatures struggled to grab it. “That’s mine!”
“No it isn’t! You stole it!”
“From a thief, which cancels out the crime!”
The two ridgerunners scrapped with one another until Gammon shook them by their collars and ordered them to be quiet.
“Didn’t you used to help the bookstore man?” Sara asked. “Your name starts with a Z.”
“His name is Zouzab,” said the first ridgerunner.
“Quiet,Mobrik,” said the other. “Why don’t you go ahead and blab about everything in the world while you’re at it?”
“Maybe I will!” Mobrik shouted. “The Fangs—”
“Quiet!”
“The Fangs are gone, you know.” Mobrik folded his arms and stuck his nose in the air. “And I amnot an ermentine thief. I merely stole it to keep it safe.”
At this, Zouzab renewed his struggle, swiping at Mobrik and hitting Gammon in the process.
“It’s nice to see you again, Zouzab,” said Artham.
Zouzab stopped fighting and squinted up at Artham. His eyes widened. “The Sock Man.”
Sara, Gammon, and Maraly looked at one another with surprise. He reallyhad worn socks, apparently.
“If you’re looking for the Jewels of Anniera,” Zouzab said with a sneer, “I haven’t seen them.”
“I know just where they are.” Artham leapt from his horse and floated down with a flap of his wings. Zouzab and Mobrik cowered. “Far enough away that they will never again be troubled by your treachery.” He stepped over to the little ridgerunner, grabbed his shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “Now what’s this your friend is saying about the Fangs?”
Zouzab sneered, but he finally said, “They’re gone.”
“Gone where?”
“To Ban Rona.”
“Why?” Artham said, straightening and giving his wings a shudder.
“I don’t know. I heard them say that Gnag has no more interest in Skree. He needed them to sail for the Green Hollows straightaway.”
“Is that everything, Mobrik?” Artham waved the fruit in the air. “I’ll give this ermentine to whomever tells me the most.”
“Yes! That’s all we know!” Mobrik and Zouzab strained against Gammon’s grip, stretching for the little yellow fruit that Artham held enticingly before them. “We tried to get on the ship but they wouldn’t let us. The Green Hollows is home to much fruit, you know.”
“Fruit,” Zouzab said under his breath.
“When did they leave?” Gammon asked, giving the ridgerunners a good shake.
“This morning at low tide!” Zouzab shouted. “Now give me that fruit!”
Artham nodded at Gammon and he released them. Then Artham hurled the ermentine as far as he could, over the back of Books and Crannies. The ridgerunners dashed after it, fighting each other the whole way.
A voice called from further down the street. “Hello?”
Gammon drew his sword and Artham took to the air. Sara and Maraly tensed, ready to steer their horses to safety. But it was only a man and woman—the man was bald, with a white moustache; the woman was thin, with grey hair and a beautiful face. They were dressed in tattered clothing and walked hand in hand, staggering now and then as if they were terribly weary. They saw Artham flapping in the air over the town and fell to their knees. They cowered and folded their hands as if they were praying.
Artham landed in front of them and lifted their chins. Sara heard him say, “Joe? Addie? It’s all right.”
They looked at Artham with wonder. “Peet?” asked Joe.
Addie took one of his hands in her own. “Where are your socks?”
“I outgrew them, I suppose.” Artham smiled. “Where did you come from?”
“Fort Lamendron,” Joe said. “The Fangs, this morn
ing they—they just disappeared. One of the other prisoners managed to open his cage and he freed the rest of us.”
“The rest of you?” Gammon asked.
Joe and Addie looked over their shoulders and Gammon’s jaw fell open. In the distance, a parade of men, women, and children marched wearily up the hill toward Glipwood. They held to each other and looked hopefully at Gammon and Artham as they approached.
“It’s true!” Addie cried waving to them. “The Fangs are gone!”
“Addie,” Joe said. “We need to prepare the rooms. We’ll have company soon, I’ll wager!”
Joe and Addie Shooster hurried up the steps of the Only Inn (Glipwood’s only inn) and began swiping at cobwebs and tugging at weeds. Minutes later the place looked alive again—and just in time, too, because the first of the Skreeans freed from Lamendron were marching into town, and some were climbing the porch stairs of the inn to ask for food. One of the upstairs windows flew open and Addie shook out a white sheet, griping about the dust and bugs.
Artham waved Sara and Maraly over, and they steered their horses through the crowd, answering questions as they went.
“Yes, I think they’re really gone.”
“Gammon, from Kimera—he freed Dugtown this winter.”
“We don’t know. They seem to have simply vanished.”
To Sara’s relief, Artham seemed at peace; his voice and eyes were steady. “I want to show you something,” he said. He mounted his horse and led Gammon and the girls past a guttered building whose roof hung limply from the upper story. “That used to be the cobblery. A grumpy fellow named Rawstyme ran the place. Hated the fell of smeet.”
“The smell of feet,” Maraly mouthed to Sara.
“Where are you taking us?” Gammon asked.
“To the Igiby Cottage. Or what’s left of it. I thought you might like to see where Janner, Tink, and Leeli grew up.”
Sara felt a pleasant tingle in her stomach. She had thought so often of Janner Igiby, that brave boy who had left behind some of his light in the Fork Factory, just for Sara. That boy who, Artham claimed, had sent him to find her. An ocean separated them now—but it made her happy to know that he had thought of her. And maybe, just maybe, someday he would sail back to Skree, and maybe he would find her and—
The Warden and the Wolf King Page 20