Songkeeper

by Gillian Bronte Adams

  The griffin dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. Now—”

  “That’s not it. Not all o’ us are goin’. Ye’ve got t’ stay behind. The streets are full o’ spies and those cursed Shantren, not t’ mention the Khelari. It’ll be risky enough for us t’ sneak through, without tryin’ t’ smuggle the last griffin in all o’ Leira along with us too.”

  “Surely . . . there must be another way.”

  So old feather-bag didn’t much like when the tables were turned on him. Amos could sympathize. Up until now, this whole wretched mission had been a series of compromises, one after the other. He’d given in, allowed himself to be wheedled, pressured, forced against his better judgement. No more.

  “There is no other way. Ye claim this mission is important. Protectin’ the Songkeeper is no less so, an’ I won’t risk her safety by havin’ ye along. Come now, is it so painful t’ admit that I’m right?”

  There was a long pause, then Gundhrold stiffly admitted. “Every man has his day.”

  “Well, t’day’s mine.” Amos propped one booted foot on the wobbly chair he’d vacated earlier and rested his forearm on his knee. “We do this my way, or not at all.”

  A heavy tread sounded behind her, but Birdie did not lift her head. She sat on the top step of the staircase, Artair’s sword resting in her lap, the blade wrapped in fresh strips of cloth and sheathed in its scabbard. She recognized the voice in his melody even before Amos spoke.

  “Why, lass? Why risk it all? Why become this?”

  The why of anything was always important, but that didn’t mean it was always simple. She had only just finished puzzling it out in her own mind. Or nearly finished, rather. It was too complex to explain. If the peddler did not understand now, then he never would.

  How could Hawkness ever grasp what it meant to be told you were worthless, only to discover that both a gift and a curse had been thrust upon you? To know that your only value rested in a power you did not understand, could not control, were not sure really belonged to you? To know that the only one who held the answers to your family’s fate had vowed to destroy you and sent soldiers to hunt you down?

  No, such things could not be explained.

  Her hands were trembling again. The awareness drifted to the forefront of her mind, and she glanced down at them, willing them to be still. So small they seemed beside Artair’s sword and the weight of the responsibility that rested on her shoulders.

  Therein lay her answer.

  “Because I must.”

  The staircase creaked and groaned as Amos plopped at her side and heaved a deep sigh. “Ye know, lass, Gundhrold an’ the others, they’ll talk largely o’ destiny an’ purpose an’ how Emhran’s singing wove the way o’ the world, an’ mayhap what they say is true. Sometimes it does feel like there’s a path laid before yer feet an’ there’s naught t’ do but follow it. But right now, as far as I’m concerned, it’s all a boatload o’ hogwash. All I want is for ye t’ be safe an’ happy. So I’ll ask ye now an’ never again, is this what ye want?”

  Want? No, this was what she needed.

  She leveraged up to her feet with the aid of the sword and straightened the red tunic and fringed leather breeches she had borrowed from the Saari—threadbare now and weather worn, as she was beginning to feel.

  The peddler’s eyes drilled into her, and she knew he would not be satisfied until he had received an answer.

  “It’s who I am, Amos.”

  26

  The first notion that crossed Ky’s mind as his eyes blinked open and his vision began to clear, was that he was parched and his head throbbed like he had taken a sling-bullet to the base of his skull. His throat felt drier than the Vituain Desert after a sandstorm. With a groan, he tried to sit up, but his body refused to cooperate.

  “Easy there, laddy-boyo.”

  The second notion was that Paddy seemed to have grown three heads. It took Ky a good moment of blinking and staring and blinking again at his friend’s freckled face, to realize that the second and third heads belonged to Meli and Syd.

  “Hey,” he mumbled. He tried to lift a hand in greeting, but Meli had latched onto his arm. “How long have I been out?”

  “Two—three days, mayhap? Whew, laddy-boyo, you gave us quite the scare. Didn’t he, Syd?” Paddy elbowed the boy, eliciting a solemn nod. He swung back to Ky. “It’s good to see you awake again. You’re the last of ’em, you know. The last taken sick. It’s a bit of a wonder, really.”

  Ky just grunted and let his head fall back to the straw pallet. The last taken sick. That was one distinction he was happy to have, so long as it meant the Underground was safe.

  “That would be thanks to me, bucko my boyo.” Migdon shuffled into view on his left, face drawn in a scowl as usual, but with a smile showing behind his eyes. “Don’t you go giving credit where credit’s not due. You can’t imagine the number of favors I had to call in—even promise—in order to get you lot that precious remedy. You’re welcome, by the way. Pretty sure this makes us even though, so don’t go expecting anything else.”

  “Sure, Mig.” Ky had to force his mouth to form the words. Even grinning left him strangely drained. “We’re even.”

  “Good . . . because I hate being beholden to anyone. Makes me feel so terribly low.”

  “Don’t care much for it myself.” Cade sauntered into the room. “But even the best of us find ourselves in debt on occasion.” He dismissed Paddy and the young ones with a jerk of his head, seized the overturned crate Ky had been using as a chair before he fell sick, and dragged it to his side. Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was just Ky’s throbbing headache, but the scraping of the wood against the stone floor seemed to drag on and on, the sound grating against his already raw nerves. He gritted his teeth against the pain flaring behind his eyes.

  Cade sat on the crate, one ankle propped on his knee, clad in a bronze breastplate and pauldrons over chainmail—similar in craftsmanship to the armor Jirkar and the other dwarves had worn. He gave a tightlipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I do owe you, Ky, though you didn’t hear it from me. Encouraging us to leave the Underground and come here was the right thing to do, and you stuck to it and made it happen. That counts for something. Just mind you don’t defy me again.”

  Ky just blinked. Of all the ways he had imagined this sort of conversation playing out, Cade expressing gratitude for his actions in Kerby hadn’t made the list. Every instinct told him that this had to be a trick of some kind. Cade wasn’t the sort to admit to being in the wrong.

  Not unless he was working up to something big.

  “The Underground was a good start. We survived, saved a few people, hopefully gave the Khelari a few sleepless nights. Maybe even irritated the Takhran. But I wasn’t thinking big enough, Ky. We weren’t thinking big enough.”

  And there it was, that magic word—big.

  Ky glanced at Migdon, but the dwarf refused to look at him. “What do you mean to do?”

  “Do?” Cade spread his arms wide, and the smile on his face struck Ky as both genuine and deadly. “Anything . . . and everything. Migdon’s been telling me all about the offensives these Adulnae have planned for the Khelari. The dark armors don’t stand a chance. I mean to see to it.” Some of the levity bled from his face and tone. “You know, Ky, I could do with a new right hand man. Paddy might be a hard worker, but that’s all he is—a worker. He’s no Dizzier. He doesn’t think outside the box. He doesn’t make things happen. I need you.”

  Steal Paddy’s place? Wasn’t it bad enough that his friend thought he had come to do just that? No, he’d sooner be thrown to the hounds. He started to object, but Cade stood abruptly to his feet and toed the crate back into the center of the room.

  “Think it over. We’ve got work to do.” There was a jaunty spring to Cade’s step as he strode away, and once the door shut behind him,
Ky could hear him whistling out in the courtyard.

  Of all the raw breaks …

  For the first time in five years, they were free of the Khelari, set up in a decent place, with a real roof over their head. Now, Cade wanted to throw it all away and chase after the dark soldiers again.

  “Easy there, bucko.” Migdon broke in. “A sour face like that is liable to stick with you.”

  “What did you tell him, Mig? What did you promise?”

  “Nothing much. Only a firsthand look at the biggest battle of our time . . . providing the Khelari attack here. Which, according to all the brilliant Xanthen strategists, they won’t, and that’s good, because we haven’t got more than a token force. Only thing this place is good for is warding off an invasion from the coast, and if there’s one thing the Takhran’s probably kicking himself about right now, it’s not investing in building a navy years ago. We’re too far north to be of any strategic value in an attack from the south and that’s where the Khelari have been amassing their forces.” He blew a heavy sigh through his lips. “Never fear, bucko, your people are safe.”

  The dwarf fell silent then, and Ky was only too grateful for the chance to wrap his aching head around his chaotic thoughts. He could still hear the fevered excitement in Cade’s voice. He had fought and bled and braved Cade’s wrath time and again to get the Underground here. He’d thought he was bringing them to safety. But now that Cade was all-fired excited about it, he couldn’t help having his doubts. The Underground leader would not be content to sit in safety when there was any chance—no matter how slim—of striking back at the dark soldiers.

  Even if it meant wading into a war zone.

  Snow gusted and whipped in Birdie’s face, driving the bitter chill through the weave of her clothes and into her bones. She hugged the woolen cloak about her shoulders and kept the hood pulled low over her forehead as they emerged from the tangle of streets to peer around the corner of a building at the deep fosse gaping before the outer wall of the Takhran’s fortress. Night had fallen, and firepots burned on the ramparts, glinting off armor and weapons.

  Birdie touched Amos’s shoulder. “Sentries …”

  “Aye lass, stay low an’ they won’t see us.” Squatting, he shuffled back from the corner and gestured for them to gather around. Frosted breath puffed from his mouth with each word. “Inali’s secret way is concealed in the boulders heaped at the base o’ the mountain, just the other side o’ the fosse. We’ll go two at a time—Inali an’ Birdie first, Sym an’ I will cover. Stick t’ the shadows. Be silent . . . an’ Emhran help us.”

  His eyes fell on her at that last bit, but since he’d spoken in a whisper, Birdie couldn’t tell if that was a trace of irony she detected in his tone or not. Either way, it seemed a good enough watchword. After all, she’d embarked on this mission at the Master Singer’s behest, hadn’t she?

  She repeated the phrase silently as she followed Inali in spurts of movement to the edge off the fosse, down the side, and through knee deep snow at the bottom. It was impossible to move silently, but the keening wind helped cover any noise they made, and no alarm had sounded by the time they reached the boulders and ducked through a crack in the earth.

  Birdie found herself standing in a darkness unlike anything she had ever encountered before. It was so thick and oppressive, she could practically feel it crawling across her skin. They were protected from the wind and the snow, but the air had a sense of stale chillness to it—the chill of a place that is never truly warm.

  “We will wait for Hawkness before lighting the torch.”

  Inali spoke in a whisper, but his voice still sent faint echoes running ahead of them. Standing there, shivering and blind, straining her ears for any sign that Amos and Sym had been discovered, Birdie was once again struck by the void caused by his lack of song. It prompted her to speak, to be bolder than she normally dared.

  “Why did you fail, Inali?”

  His sharply intaken breath revealed just how much of a blow it was. “Because . . . I was not to be the Songkeeper. I was bound to fail. Fated. But you are, little one. You are not like me.”

  Measured footsteps sounded behind, and both Amos and Sym’s songs heralded their approach. A moment later, the peddler squeezed through the crack and paused just long enough to catch his breath before speaking. “Right, let’s move. We’ve a long night ahead o’ us, an’ lots o’ ground t’ cover.” The clack of flint and steel rang out and a moment later, a spark leapt to a torch in Amos’s hand, casting shadows across the rock surrounding them and revealing a narrow tunnel winding away before their feet. “Ye know where t’ go, Inali?”

  “I could not forget if I tried.” A twinge of bitterness filled Inali’s voice. “But the little Songkeeper can walk beside me to set your mind at rest and help me if I err. I walk by memory alone, but she will be able to follow the melody to its source.”

  Amos offered the torch, but would not release it until Inali met his gaze. “I may not be familiar with this path, Inali, but I know the dangers o’ these tunnels. Beware if any harm comes t’ the lass—”

  “I know. You will hold me personally responsible. Believe me, I have no desire to add to my bloodguilt.” Grasping the torch in one hand, he swept a courtly bow in Birdie’s direction and motioned her forward.

  Summoning all her courage, she turned her back on the entrance and walked on at his side, painfully aware that each step took her deeper into the tangled paths below Mount Eiphyr.

  27

  Long after the rest of the Underground was asleep, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach drove Ky from his pallet and out onto the snow crusted battlements of the keep. The crisp night air blew soothing breaths across his aching forehead. He broke into a jog, running twice around the walkway before finally coming to a stop in the middle of the bridge that spanned the gap between the twin keeps.

  He bent over, pulling long, clean breaths into his winded lungs, enjoying the burst of energy and adrenaline flowing through his veins, driving the restlessness away. Maybe he had just been lying abed too long. Being laid up for any amount of time never had sat well with him.

  “Oi, Ky.” Paddy crested the bridge, puffing beneath the weight of a bronze breastplate and chainmail tunic. He leaned against the ramparts beside Ky and tipped his head back, causing his plumed helmet to wobble. “You looked like you were about to run away. What’s got you so stirred up? Ready to be shed o’ this place already?”

  Ky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. To all appearances, it was a friendly enough question, but something about it struck him as sour. “I don’t run away, Paddy. You know that.”

  “Shure, I know it. Reckon Cade knows it now too.” Paddy squinted and bobbed his head back and forth with a grimace. “I might’ve just happened to overhear what Cade said to you t’other day, about you bein’ his right hand man.” He huffed a laugh. “Here I am, followin’ orders like a good little lad—never defied him once—and he picks you to make things happen.”

  “Paddy, I—”

  “No need to explain.” Paddy blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Reckon you were always just better at that sort of thing than me.”

  “Nah, I’m not, an’ I’m not goin’ to do it, either.” Just saying the words out loud helped him to reason it out in his own mind. “Cade an’ I, we just can’t see eye to eye. Look, I wanted to get the Underground to safety, an’ we’ve done that. Now, I reckon it’s time for . . . something else. Don’t really know what yet though.”

  Ky emphasized his words with a shrug and rested his elbows against the battlement, looking out over the shallow pass almost thirty feet below. From here, the sliver of moon provided light enough for a good view of the white stone road that ran from the Caran’s stronghold to the coast through the pass beneath the bridge. It also glinted off the armor of dwarf sentries patrolling the ramparts of the north keep and along the earthen bre
astwork that carved across the road to provide advance defenses for Siranos.

  All still. All quiet.

  Ky cast a sideways glance at Paddy. “So what’s with the get up?”

  Paddy struck a warrior’s pose. “Dandy, isn’t it?” His face scrunched in a grin, and he tugged the wobbling helmet from his head and shook it in Ky’s face. “Save your laughter, laddy-boyo. Accordin’ to Cade, this might just save your life, and on sentry duty, no less. I swear, he thinks we’re his own min-i-ature army.” He plunked the helmet down on the edge of the battlement.

  Ky grinned. “Now who’s never defied Cade?”

  “I know.” A crease formed between his eyes. “I feel such a rebel.”

  Something whizzed through the air, struck the helmet with a metallic clang, and sent it flying from the battlement to bounce on the stones at their feet. Instantly, Ky flung himself down with his back to the battlement and hastily worked the sling from around his waist. Paddy dropped beside him, looking as startled as Ky felt.

  “’Twas an arrow . . . I saw it when it struck.”

  Sling loaded, Ky pushed up into a crouch and peered over at the silent battlements of the north keep. He couldn’t see the dwarf sentries anymore, didn’t hear any shouts of alarm, either.

  “That could’ve been my head!”

  “Paddy, shh!” He eased around the edge of one of the battlements. Where before, he had seen only the white road stretching away into the moonlight, he now saw a dark mass of armored men pouring up over the breastwork into the roadway and drawing up in rank and file. An arrow zipped past his face and skipped off the opposite battlement.

  He ducked beside Paddy. “Bad news. Dark soldiers are here.”

  “I thought this was the one place in all of Leira they weren’t likely to come to.”

  “Yeah, well, guess nobody told them that. Takhran must’ve gotten himself a fleet somewhere. They’re coming from the coast, they’ve already taken the breastwork, an’ they’ve got archers posted, pickin’ off anythin’ that moves.”