A bolt fluttered past his head, so close that he heard the thrum of its passing loud in his ear. As the atrium doors fell apart, men were firing through a large gap in its center.
Arcturus sent the wyrdlight flitting there, even as the next man aimed through the hole and fired. The light danced in front of the shooter’s eyes, dazzling him, while Arcturus was shrouded in gloom once more. The bolt went wide, clattering into the courtyard wall to his right. Arcturus swung again.
The wood of the second hinge crumbled and the jolt sent Arcturus sprawling, just in time to avoid another bolt that might have skewered him through the shoulder. He crawled for the last rope, where Sacharissa had gnawed it through to the final twisted strand. The platform was in the moat now, but held half floating in place by this last pulley.
“No!” a rebel yelled, seeing what Arcturus was about to do.
Arcturus swung one last time, and felt the bridge was afloat. He sprawled face-first to balance it and sent an order to Sacharissa, who dove into the black water and gripped the edge of the drawbridge with her teeth. Even with his weight alone, the water seeped over the edges and onto the front of his shirt. It would not bear the weight of more than a man at a time without sinking.
Sacharissa ignored the pain of her injured ribs, pummeling the water with her feet. Slowly, the long, flat piece of wood floated to the side, out of reach from where someone might pull it back into position and slowly crawl their way across. Arcturus slung his axe, and when they had floated a long stone’s throw away from where the bridge had been, he leaped across, soaking his breeches as he scrabbled against the steep edge of the moat and pulled himself up by handfuls of weeds and grass. Sacharissa clambered out beside him, shaking herself dry in a spray of murky water.
The last-ditch efforts of the crossbowmen thudded into the grass where he had been before, and Arcturus laughed at the screams of rage from within Vocans.
Then he was gone. Into the darkness.
CHAPTER
51
IT WAS EASY ENOUGH to find the group’s trail—too wet and exhausted to concentrate and pick up the scent, Arcturus simply followed Sacharissa.
He caught up with them within a few minutes, for they had been slowed by Elaine. She was being carried by a big-boned soldier, and fighting tooth and nail to go back and get Arcturus.
“Easy there,” Arcturus said as she jumped free and hugged him tightly. But soon he had to pry her away and take her hand, as the group had not waited for their reunion but continued their flight across the rolling hills of southern Hominum.
They were traveling in pitch darkness, for torches would make an easy beacon for any pursuers to follow. So they cursed and stumbled on, skinning their hands and legs on loose rocks as their route twisted into the untamed countryside, away from the pastures and fields.
Finally, Ulfr gave them a brief respite, lying down on his back and waving at the others to take a breather. The dwarf had pushed himself hard, for his shorter legs made him a poor runner.
“Where the bloody hell were you?” Sergeant Caulder panted as Arcturus and Elaine caught up with him.
“I cut loose the drawbridge,” Arcturus said, collapsing beside the veteran soldier.
“Damned fool thing to do,” Sergeant Caulder replied. “You’d have died if they’d made it through before you’d finished.”
“It bought us more time than we had,” Arcturus said, finally managing to pry his hand away from Elaine’s. “It will take them a while to get enough men across—and I reckon they’ll need to wait for at least fifty before they’re confident they could beat us. We might have a half hour’s start on them, depending on the number of swimmers they have.”
“We’ll see,” Sergeant Caulder grunted. “The dwarf won’t tell us where we’re going. But he says we’re close. I’ll believe it when I see it though. Even if we go underground, the dogs can follow us in. They’ll catch up with us eventually.”
“Could we head for Corcillum instead?” Arcturus asked. “They can’t have more than a dozen horses in Vocans’s stables. Enough to catch up with us, but not to beat us.”
He gestured at the thirty-odd soldiers sitting around them, groaning with exertion. They had been carrying their heavy shields, spears and crossbows, as well as the mail and surcoats they wore as part of their uniform. It slowed them down, but made them a formidable force.
At this rate, the lightly armored and armed rebel foot soldiers would catch up to them eventually. Sergeant Caulder’s words mirrored Arcturus’s thoughts.
“We’re traveling too slow; even their men on foot will catch us before we reach the capital. As for the cavalry, they’ll ride by us, and tell every damned rebel in Hominum to watch for our entry on the city’s edge.”
“So we’re going to be caught either way?” Elaine asked.
“That’s the long and short of it,” Sergeant Caulder said. “But maybe the dwarf can pull off a miracle for us.”
Arcturus didn’t have time to contemplate that, as Ulfr led them toward what appeared to be a steep hill, its side so sheer that Arcturus wondered why they didn’t go around it.
But then he saw it, as the cloud blocking the moon above finally drifted aside. A cave entrance, as wide and high as two men were tall, its depths shrouded in the darkest shadow.
“This is where we’re hiding?” Zacharias announced skeptically. “We’ve left enough footprints for them to follow us, even without hunting dogs. We might as well be sitting in an open field.”
“Just follow me,” Ulfr snapped, stomping into the cave. “And keep your mouth shut if it’s only going to spout idiocy.”
Zacharias gazed after the dwarf with malice, but did not respond. For a moment the soldiers hesitated, staring into the blackness. Then a light flared, a beautifully warm orange that drew the wet and freezing Arcturus forward like a moth to a flame. Ulfr held a torch high above his head, and in embrasures alongside him, other torches were held in sconces. He lit these with a sweep of his arm and motioned for the nearest soldiers to pick them up. Then he hurried into the tunnel.
“Come on!” Prince Harold ordered. “They could be on us any minute.”
“You trust this fool?” Zacharias moaned. “What are these sneaky dwarves up to, hiding torches in caves. They’re as bad as the rebels.”
“Then you can stay here and enjoy the rebels’ company instead,” Arcturus said harshly, taking a torch of his own and following Ulfr into the cave. He didn’t wait to find out what Zacharias would do. Instead, he relished the warmth that the flame gave off and ran headlong behind the dwarf.
Long, blunt cones of stone grew from the ceilings and floors, some even combining to form strange, middle-pinched pillars scattered along the way. Soon the escape party was straggled in a long line in the cave, following the glow of light from those ahead and slowing to make sure that those behind could still see theirs.
The path split more times than Arcturus could count, and Ulfr led them unerringly one way or the other. It was apparent he knew this place, though for what purpose, Arcturus could only guess.
“Ulfr, how much farther?” Arcturus called.
For all he knew, the rebels were already in the caves behind them. Though, with all these twists and turns, it was likely that the rebels would become lost—it was hard to track footprints along a stone surface.
Unless they brought hunting dogs with them of course. Arcturus hoped against hope that they had been in too much of a hurry to bring them—he had not seen, heard or smelled any when he had been inside Vocans.
But if they waited here, they would be found eventually, by dogs or the rebels.
Still, it seemed Ulfr had a destination in mind. Indeed, Sacharissa was becoming excited, for she could sense the sound and smell of something new approaching. Something that Arcturus craved, for his throat was parched and his body encrusted with sweat, blood and soil.
Water. Sweet, pure, rushing water, roaring like a river at high tide. It felt so out of place in the deep, d
ry tunnel they had found themselves in. And when Arcturus turned the corner, he could not believe what he saw.
The passage opened up into a cavern as wide and as tall as the atrium of Vocans itself, though the light from their torches barely reached the ceiling. The chamber’s center was bisected by a broad river, perhaps four times as wide as Vocans’s moat, carving through the cave floor and disappearing into the cave walls on either side.
But this was not what amazed Arcturus. It was the flotilla of boats that were beached by the river’s side. Almost a dozen vessels were arrayed there, long keeled and broad, with rowing benches down their centers and oars splayed from their sides like insect legs.
“What are these doing down here?” Arcturus gasped, awed by the strange sight.
“They’re for the dwarven servants at Vocans,” Ulfr explained, hurrying to the nearest craft and examining its bottom.
The soldiers behind Arcturus began to emerge from the tunnel behind him, and the air was abuzz with wonder at the strange underground craft. One even had a mast and furled sail, though what purpose it served in the still underground was unclear.
“But why?” Arcturus asked. “Surely you can walk.”
“By law, dwarves may not congregate in groups larger than three,” Ulfr said, shrugging his shoulders. “We cannot travel together when making the walk to Corcillum. At least, not in enough numbers to deter robbers and bandits—or drunken humans looking for a fight. We travel together in these instead, away from prying eyes. It’s much faster … though rowing them back is always a nightmare, with the current against us.”
Arcturus shook his head, disgusted that he was fighting for the man who had created such a law. Even if, in truth, he was fighting for his friends.
“Come on,” Ulfr shouted, heaving against one of the smaller boats. “Get these in the water, or the rebels will use them to follow us.”
Arcturus let the soldiers do the hard work, instead sitting on the damp ground and hugging Sacharissa as tightly as he could. Her coat was still musty, but the warmth of her body was a great comfort, even if she smelled like a wet dog.
“Leave that one,” Ulfr shouted as the soldiers began to manhandle another vessel toward the water. “We’ll need that one.”
It was the boat with the sail. The vessel was larger than the other, enough to accommodate all of them in a pinch.
Ulfr cursed under his breath as the boat he was pushing floated into the water, and the current took it into the dark tunnel in the side of the chamber wall.
The dwarf caught Arcturus’s eye and forced a smile.
“The river will eventually take them to the sea,” he said, shaking his head wistfully. “It took us years to build all of these. Such a waste.”
“Why do you have so many?” Arcturus asked. “Surely there are more than enough for the dwarves at Vocans.”
“They’re not just for us servants,” Ulfr said, keeping his voice low so only Arcturus could hear. “In fact there are not enough of them for their true purpose.”
Arcturus shuffled closer.
“If King Alfric ever chose to exterminate the dwarves, our entire population could use them to escape,” Ulfr explained.
“But how?” Arcturus asked, horrified that Ulfr thought that was even a possibility. “Wouldn’t they have to walk here first?”
“No,” Ulfr said. “Because the river leads somewhere else before it reaches the sea.”
“Where?” Arcturus asked.
Ulfr smiled.
“The dwarven quarter.”
CHAPTER
52
THEY HEARD IT LONG before all the boats had been pushed out into the water. The rebel dogs, their barking echoing eerily in the chamber around them.
“Come on,” Ulfr shouted, pushing aside a soldier and lending his strength to the crowd laboring with the next vessel. It scraped slowly into the river, the current twisting its back half along the edge for a brief moment before it spun in completely.
There were two more boats beside their ship, but progress had slowed—Percival had separated a few of his men to form a barrier across the passage they had come in from.
“Again!” Rotter called, leading the remaining men to the next boat.
Arcturus went to join Percival’s men, who were formed six men wide and three men deep. The first row were crouched behind their rectangular shields, while the second row stood, their crossbows leveled at the dark tunnel in front of them. Behind them, a third row held their shields at an angle above the second row’s heads, leaving only a handbreadth of space for the crossbows to fire through.
“We’re lucky these men are trained in shield craft too,” Percival said, turning to Arcturus. “I’m not the only sergeant to remember the old ways. This was how King Corwin took Hominum back from the orcs.”
Arcturus was impressed. Though he could only see it from behind, he imagined any man approaching would be faced with a hail of crossbow bolts, then have to fight his way through a wall of solid wood, while death spat at them from between the shields and long spears stabbed low from the first and third ranks.
“It’s done!” Rotter called.
Arcturus turned, and was relieved to see that all the boats were in the water. Their own ship had been maneuvered to where the river was most shallow, and it drifted in the current, held in place by a few of the remaining soldiers.
“Hurry,” Sergeant Caulder ordered, helping exhausted soldiers climb over the sides. “They’ll be here any minute.”
The sound of thudding wood made Arcturus turn. A crossbow bolt had flown from the darkness, burying itself in a shield in the front rank.
“Fire!” Percival bellowed.
The twang of crossbow strings sent a volley into the dim darkness, and the sergeant was rewarded with a scream.
“Back,” Percival shouted. “To the ship.”
As one, the men eased back, still in formation. It was beautiful to watch, for they moved in perfect time, and the second row reloaded even as they walked.
“One, two. One, two,” Percival chanted, setting the pace. Arcturus crouched behind the third rank, his crossbow loaded, but unable to fire through the formation. Instead, he hurled his torch over their heads, illuminating the inside of the tunnel facing them.
Rebels. There were as many as twenty of them, crouched fearfully behind the rock formations that littered the passageway.
“Fire!” Percival shouted again.
Another volley whistled into the darkness. More rebels fell, their paltry cover giving them little protection. But more were coming around the corner now, and a scattering of return fire thudded into the shield wall.
“One, two. One, two,” Percival repeated, and the men took up the chant, making their way back to the relative safety of the ship’s high sides.
More bolts whistled above him, and Arcturus realized that Rotter’s crew on the ship was firing over their heads. The soldiers had almost reached the ship now.
“Hold fire.” Sergeant Caulder’s voice floated from behind. “Give them cover on my command.”
“All right, lads,” Percival said, his voice low so that the rebels could not hear. “One last volley, then shields on backs and onto the ship. Three. Two. One … now!”
Another volley whipped into the tunnel, then Arcturus barely had time to turn before he was swept up in the rush to board.
“Fire at will!” Sergeant Caulder roared.
Bolts whistled into the tunnels, sending rebels diving for cover. Men hurled themselves over the sides of the ship, and Arcturus fell into the bilges, half-submerged in the stagnant water slopping there. Even as he lifted himself, Sacharissa’s weight fell on his back and he found his face underwater, then he was lurched onto his side as they were launched into the river and the current took the ship.
He spluttered and struggled into a crouch. Quarrels buzzed back and forth as Percival’s soldiers fired over the sides, while thuds reverberated along the ship from the rebels’ returning fire.
/> Then their world darkened, the roof of the tunnel looming overhead. Arcturus snatched a glance at the chamber before it was out of sight. Rebels were streaming in, firing desperately as the ship drifted out of range. At the very back, he saw Barcroft, emerging red-faced from the tunnel. The general stared after the ship, then threw his sword to the ground in disgust.
Arcturus sat back and let the soldiers take command. Orders swirled around him, and for a brief moment he closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion overwhelm him. Then someone took his hand and led him to the back of the boat. He tripped and jostled his way over the rowers’ benches, before being gently shoved into a hollow at the back of the ship, where a pile of dry sacking was stacked.
Prince Harold let go of Arcturus’s hand and tugged some sacking over the exhausted boy.
“Get some rest,” the prince said. “You’ve earned it.”
CHAPTER
53
ARCTURUS WOKE WITH A start. At first, his eyes saw only darkness, but then he registered the undulating ceiling of the tunnel and he remembered where he was.
“How long was I out?” Arcturus asked, rubbing his head where it had pressed against the ship’s side.
“Less than an hour,” Prince Harold said.
The young royal was on the rowers’ bench in front of Arcturus, heaving at the long oar with another soldier. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wide and alert. It was bitter cold, and as the Prince spoke, his breath misted the air.
Arcturus winced as he sat up, feeling the aches and pains of several days on the run. Still, his short rest had given him a new burst of wakefulness. He felt something shift beside him, only to see Crawley, bound and gagged. Sacharissa brought her snout close to the steward’s face and growled. He wriggled away, whimpering.
“Did you send a message to your father?” Arcturus asked.
“No ink and paper,” Prince Harold said, shaking his head miserably. “They still think we’ve been captured.”
Arcturus pushed Sacharissa off his lap and stood. The only source of light was a single torch on either end of the ship, and the tunnel seemed to stretch forever both behind and in front of them. The soldiers were sitting two to a bench all the way down, rowing slowly in the dark water.