“Aye, Sergeant Caulder,” Rotter said, his eyes darting furtively behind him. “Sarge fought like the devil, but there were too many. One snuck up from behind, knocked him out with a club. I think they kept him alive for interrogation.”
“Is the town being pillaged?” Edmund demanded, his eyes turning in the town’s direction. “I don’t see flames.”
Arcturus could see the glow of the town’s torchlights in the distance, suddenly visible in the growing darkness.
It didn’t seem real. It was so quiet. Were there dead men over there, cut down in the dusk light?
“What are they doing here?” Alice murmured. “No pillaging … and there are too many of them to be bandits. A dwarven uprising?”
“They were no dwarves,” Rotter growled. “Too tall. But they wore matching cloaks and covered their faces with scarves. Like they were organized. Like someone might recognize them.”
Arcturus felt a chill take hold of him then. Could this be what Crawley had been talking about?
“The riots,” Arcturus said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“What of them?” Zacharias snarled from behind him, making Arcturus jump. He had not heard Zacharias and Josephine return. The boy’s demon was gone—infused into Zacharias’s body.
“Arcturus is right,” Prince Harold said, holding up his hand. “They are here for us. This is an uprising. Just not a dwarven one.”
“It’s the commoners,” Edmund said, his face filled with sudden understanding. “The ones who started the fire in Corcillum.”
“What are you saying?” Josephine asked. Her voice quavered, and Arcturus could see her face was pale in the dim light.
“They are here for us,” Edmund explained, loading his crossbow with grim determination. “The prince, the nobles. All of us.”
“No!” Elaine gasped and rushed over to grip Arcturus’s hand.
“Why?” Alice asked. “What good are we to them?”
“Because we are weak,” Prince Harold said. “Weak enough to capture. All of us are novices, with our first demons and the most basic grasp of spellcraft. We have not had the time to grow our summoning levels, or capture more powerful demons. With their numbers … they could defeat us without too much trouble.”
“What good would capturing us do?” Josephine demanded, her words verging on a wail. “Our parents control everything, not us!”
“Exactly,” Edmund replied. “With a knife to our throats, they would be able to make our parents do whatever they wanted.”
“Not mine,” Harold said, shaking his head. “My father would never bow to their demands, the stubborn old goat. I’d die for sure.”
“Even if our parents did not love us, the consequences of our deaths would be too costly,” Edmund said, shaking his head. “We are not just their children—most of us are their heirs, their firstborn.”
“Only the firstborn are guaranteed to be born summoners,” Arcturus murmured, understanding dawning on him. If the firstborns were killed, the ability to summon might be lost to their families forever.
“I’m not a firstborn,” Elaine whispered, nudging Arcturus. “My brothers can summon. Will I—?”
“No,” Arcturus said, forcing a smile. “Your parents would never let that happen.”
Elaine gripped his hand, and he felt the weight of her Mite, Valens, alighting on his shoulder. Sacharissa nuzzled the young girl’s waist, and she stroked the demon’s shaggy coat.
“So what’s the plan?” Josephine asked desperately. “Shall we head for the bridge?”
“No,” Edmund said. “There are two ways into Raleighshire. One is across that bridge to the north, and the other is a pass south through the mountains, which will lead us into the orc jungles anyway. With an attack this well organized, we can assume they will have blocked both routes.”
“Well, whatever your decision, you had better make it soon,” Rotter snapped. “They’ll be sending out search parties as soon as night falls, if not sooner. And they have hunting dogs with them.”
Prince Harold cursed.
“We won’t last more than a few hours; the dogs will follow our scent right to us. Not nearly enough time to send for help.”
“So do we fight?” Zacharias said. For all his bravado, the blond noble looked terrified.
But Arcturus could take no satisfaction from it. Not in their predicament.
“There’s a rocky outcrop not too far from here,” Edmund said. “If we run we might be able to make it there, fortify it.”
“With what, sticks and rocks?” Josephine muttered. “That’s suicide. I’d rather surrender and let our parents deal with it.”
“It’s your father’s fault anyway!” Zacharias pointed an accusatory finger at Harold. “So what if he has to give up the throne. That’s what they want, right?”
“I don’t deny it,” Harold said simply.
More silence, broken only by Zacharias’s angry breathing.
“Let me think,” Edmund murmured, gripping the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
It was almost dark now, and Arcturus could see the sun was just a sliver of orange on the horizon. Despair gripped him as the light faded, and his thoughts turned to Crawley’s offer. What if he surrendered … would he have to join the rebel commoners? Should he?
But how could he betray his friends … and who knew if the rebels would succeed? If they did, he would be hanged as a traitor with the rest of the nobles.
“Doesn’t your family have men protecting the mountain pass?” Zacharias asked Edmund, interrupting Arcturus’s thoughts. “Maybe the rebels haven’t gotten to them yet.”
“Even if that was the case, there are barely a score of them, mostly retired soldiers that my father didn’t have the heart to fire,” Edmund replied. “His personal guard went with him on his trade mission. They timed this attack well.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” Zacharias snapped.
Edmund gazed toward the town, his brows furrowed.
“There’s something else. But … no.”
“Tell us,” Alice said. “If there’s even a chance … we should take it.”
Edmund sighed, indecision plain on his face.
“Hurry,” Rotter hissed. “We have to go!”
“There’s a secret passage,” Edmund said. “Beneath a statue opposite the old church in Raleightown. But … it leads into the orc jungles, beyond the mountain pass.”
“You want us to go toward them?” Zacharias snarled. “And then into orc territory? Are you crazy?”
“The dogs aren’t tracking our scent yet,” Edmund said. “If we go back to the town, they won’t have a trail to follow. Maybe we can hide in the passageway until help arrives.”
“The path back is clear,” Rotter said. “I just came from there.”
“So that’s it?” Alice asked, gazing back at the town’s distant lights. “That’s our best plan?”
Edmund turned to Harold, and the prince gave him a grim nod.
“We go back,” Edmund said firmly. “And hope we survive the night.”
CHAPTER
23
THE GROUP CROUCHED IN the long grass outside the town, staring into the glow of torches. The air was filled with the barking of dogs, and the shouts of angry men.
Arcturus tried not to look at the blood that stained the dry soil, or the wide, staring eyes of the men that lay dead around them. And the soldiers were not the only corpses that had been left to the wild jackals.
Sergeant Caulder’s squad had sold their lives dearly, leaving over a score of enemy bodies scattered on the battlefield. The courage to stand against such odds astounded Arcturus, and he felt ashamed that his first instinct had been to turn on his friends.
The dead rebels were clad in different shades and styles of dark, hooded jackets, with scarves across their faces. Their weapons, along with those of the soldiers, had been taken, much to Prince Harold’s dismay. The nobles had but a single sword and a half-dozen crossbows between them.
> As they waited, Arcturus wished that Sacharissa could smell the bodies, to see if Crawley was among them. But all their demons had been infused—a precaution in case their scent attracted the rebel hunting dogs. All but one, anyway.
Edmund lay on his back beside Arcturus, his scrying crystal held up to his nose. His demon, a strange hybrid of owl and cat, was gliding over the town, scouting a safe route to the secret passageway. Through the corner of his eye, Arcturus could see the image on the shard of stone, where rooftops and ill-lit streets flitted by.
Arcturus rolled onto his side, to see where Rotter sat with Elaine, his sword drawn. Edmund had tasked the soldier to look after her, and Arcturus was surprised to see that Elaine seemed almost amused, their situation forgotten as Rotter whispered some joke in her ear.
“They’re busy rounding up all the townsfolk into the town square. I think there’s a way,” Edmund hissed, alerting the others. “Quietly now. Make sure your crossbows are loaded.”
Then they were up and running, their bodies crouched as if it would somehow hide them entering the town’s edge and into the cobbled streets.
Lanterns lined the road on either side, and Arcturus could hardly believe that they were heading toward the shouting voices in the near distance. They turned down an alley, then another, and somehow the walls that pressed in on either side gave comfort to Arcturus, as if they were safer here than in the wider streets.
“Wait,” Edmund growled, stopping and staring at his crystal. Above, Arcturus saw a flash of fur and feathers as the demon swooped by.
The young noble knelt and leveled his crossbow down the passageway. The others followed suit, preparing a row of projectiles held back by nothing more than a twitch of their fingers.
“Fire on my command,” Edmund said, and suddenly Arcturus’s vision blurred, his heart pounding in his chest.
Seconds ticked by, and all Arcturus could think of was how much he didn’t want to be there.
“Now!”
Arcturus fired without thinking, his nerveless fingers jerking at the sound. He barely saw the two rebels round the corner, nor did he know which one his bolt had struck. All he saw was the men hurled back against the brick wall. And the blood pooling as they choked their last breaths, their chests pin-cushioned with the broad shafts. It was an ugly, horrible death, and Edmund did not waste precious seconds to end their suffering, urging the group on down the next street.
“Take that, you rebel scum,” Zacharias snarled, and Arcturus heard a thud behind him as the noble kicked one of the dying men.
But Arcturus felt no triumph. Only shame, and horror.
What if he went back, tried to heal them? Edmund’s plan would never work. But it wasn’t too late to join the rebel cause.
“Hellfire, they’ve sent out the hunting parties,” Edmund cursed, looking up from his crystal. “Come on!”
On they went, running faster now, accompanied by the sound of their footsteps and the rattle of the loose crossbow bolts in their quivers. They turned down another street, eerily empty, while the howls of the dogs swirled around them like the baying of wolves.
Then they saw it: the town hall, a round building with a wide set of double doors, set on the corner of a crossroads. Two rebels stood guard outside the entrance, oblivious to the approaching nobles.
They were armed with the most rudimentary of weapons, and now Arcturus understood how Sergeant Caulder’s soldiers had managed to kill so many of them. One held a makeshift spear, constructed from what might have been a rake’s handle and a kitchen knife nailed to its tip. The other held a cleaver in his right hand, the lid of a cooking pot in his left.
The spearman did a double take as they approached, then pressed his back against the wall, terrified. The other seemed frozen to the spot, unable to move even when Edmund’s crossbow pointed directly at him.
“Stand aside, gents,” Rotter said, pushing past Edmund and Prince Harold. “I’ll handle this pair.”
His sword held unwavering in front of him, Rotter approached the two rebels. Suddenly, the spearman yelled and charged him, his spear lowered at the soldier’s gut.
With practiced ease, Rotter sidestepped the skewer and hammered the man’s head with the flat of his sword. The rebel collapsed, sprawled unconscious on the cobblestones, his spear clattering until it settled against Arcturus’s feet.
“Drop it,” Rotter barked to the other man.
The cleaver and pot lid fell to the ground with a clang, and the rebel’s knees followed soon after, his hands clasped in supplication.
“Please … I didn’t mean it.…”
Rotter leaned down and inspected the cleaver.
“No blood,” he said. “You’re lucky.”
He lifted the hilt of his sword and slammed it down, knocking the rebel out with a sickening crack.
“Amateurs,” Rotter spat. “Where to now?”
But Edmund made no move to leave. Instead, he turned to face a statue that stood opposite the town hall entrance.
“We’re here,” Edmund said.
It was an unassuming structure, perhaps small for a statue, depicting a man whose appearance matched Edmund’s closely, if not for the mustache and lamb-chop sideburns that adorned the figure’s features. The man’s body was clad in chain mail, and he carried a sword.
“My father had this put up to cover the tunnel,” Edmund said, crouching at its base and fiddling with the stone plaque there. “It’s of himself. Bit self-indulgent if you ask me, but it did the trick; half the town hate the damned thing, don’t go anywhere near it.”
There was the sound of grinding stone, then Edmund stepped away and revealed a hole where the plaque had been before.
“Come on, in you go.”
He didn’t need to say it twice—the barking of the dogs seemed to be getting louder. Zacharias barged past the others in his haste to get through, wriggling his broad shoulders through the gap. Elaine, the twins and Prince Harold followed in quick succession.
But then Edmund hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the two unconscious men in the doorway behind him.
“What are you waiting for?” Alice hissed, poking her head up into the gap.
“They might wake up, tell their friends we were here,” Edmund replied, pointing to the two rebels. “We should take them with us.”
“And the dead bodies around the corner, what about them?” Alice asked, exasperated. “They’ll find them eventually.”
“They wouldn’t know who killed them,” Edmund replied. “These guys actually saw us. Come on, Arcturus, help me.”
Arcturus hurried forward, and together with Rotter, they managed to manhandle the bodies into the hole beneath the statue. Arcturus pushed through the spear and cleaver for good measure, and resisted the urge to grin as Zacharias swore, the spear haft hitting the noble on its way down.
“What were they guarding anyway?” Arcturus asked breathlessly. “Why weren’t they with the rest of them?”
“Do you want to stay and find out?” Edmund asked.
But something stopped the young noble even as he spoke, and he turned to stare at the town hall’s doorway.
“Sergeant Caulder,” he uttered. “Maybe they were guarding him.”
“Leave it, you fool,” Zacharias called from within the passage. “We’re almost away!”
Arcturus looked desperately down the street, where the glow of lights seemed to be becoming brighter, as if blazing torches were being carried toward them. He could hear raised voices now, breaking through the incessant howling of the dogs.
But Rotter didn’t wait to hear Edmund’s decision. Throwing caution to the wind, the soldier kicked open the door, rushing in with his sword held aloft. Arcturus charged after him, brandishing his unloaded crossbow like a club.
Within the dim room, a man lay tied up, a flour sack pulled over his head. Rotter knelt and began to slash apart his bindings, revealing a bloodstained Sergeant Caulder.
“What took you so bloody long?” S
ergeant Caulder growled, forcing a weak smile.
“Hurry!” Alice’s voice came from behind.
There was a mad, stumbling rush into the night air, Arcturus moving with Sergeant Caulder’s arm thrown around his shoulders. For a moment he glimpsed hooded figures, rounding a corner on the road to his right. Then he was in darkness, tumbling through empty space.
CHAPTER
24
ARCTURUS GROANED AND RUBBED his head. For a moment, his breath caught short, the darkness overwhelming. Was he blind?
A light flared into existence, bathing the world in a pale blue glow.
“Quiet,” Edmund whispered, holding a finger to his lips. Beside him, the wyrdlight he had cast floated aimlessly, shifting the shadows around them.
Voices called out above them, barely audible over the barking of the hounds. Then … snorting, above them. The snuffling of a dog, and the scratching of its claws against stone.
“Gerroutofit, stupid mutt,” a gruff voice shouted, filtering through the garbled noise on the other side. Still the dog scratched, until they heard a yelp as it was kicked.
They sat and listened, holding their breaths in the darkness.
“Find ’em, lads,” the same voice called. “They’re out there somewhere.”
Slowly—ever so slowly, the noise began to fade.
Finally, they were in stillness, broken only by the dripping of water somewhere deep in the cavern.
Now that Arcturus could breathe again, he was able to see that they were in a rough-hewn tunnel, approximately as wide and tall as one of Vocans’s corridors. Here and there, patches of wet seemed to shine on the walls, as if they were sweating. Beneath, pools of dark water had formed, and Arcturus could see they would have to wade in parts if they were to advance farther.
He hoped it would not get deeper. Being unable to swim, he’d sink to the bottom before anyone could save him. Arcturus supposed he could hold on to Sacharissa, though the thought of drifting half-submerged in the darkness filled him with fear.
“How long do you think it will take for help to arrive?” Arcturus asked, first to break the silence, if only to escape his own thoughts.