I watched as Khara’s hand dropped to the hilt of her sword, and I put the pieces into place: “the Arms of Kainor the Magnificent” meant the armor, the shield, and above all, the sword of Nedarra’s greatest hero.
I was only an ignorant young dairne, little versed in history, blissfully unaware of the wars and strife of humans and other species. But even I knew of Kainor the Magnificent, the man who’d defeated the Svorsk invasion. At least, I’d heard the name and knew it was held in reverence.
This girl who passed as a boy, this poacher, now carried the most famous sword in history.
Just as I could sense Khara’s moods, she seemed to be sensing mine in the weight of my silence. And then, looking straight at me, she told a lie. “It is a very nice sword, too good for me. But of course nothing like any of the Arms of Kainor.”
A lie. A deliberate lie. A lie she told knowing that I would know it was a lie.
The lie, I realized, was for Luca.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Luca said.
“It’s camouflaged by powerful spells,” Khara said. “Until it’s drawn in anger.”
“Does Ferrucci know you are a Donati?” Luca asked.
“No. He only knew my father as a poacher who brought him rare animals.”
Luca nodded slowly. “I wonder whatever became of the Arms of Kainor. The Murdano would give anything to get his hands on the Light of Nedarra, I’m sure.”
“Which is . . . ?” I asked
“The famous sword,” Luca said.
Khara laughed. “I’d be happy to sell it to him, if I knew. The story my father tells is that Kainor’s sword, shield, armor, and battle mace were all stolen when our home was sacked.” She shrugged and Luca seemed to accept her words, despite what to me was unmistakable dishonesty.
If Khara was lying, it could only mean that she knew where the Arms of Kainor were. And she knew even better where the Light of Nedarra was.
In fact, her hand was resting on its hilt.
The sudden rush of the crew alerted us that we were nearing land. What would happen, I wondered, once we disembarked?
“Where are we going?” Tobble asked, speaking my question aloud.
We all looked at Khara.
She shook her head and instead turned her gaze on me.
“We are going,” she said firmly, “where Byx wishes to go.”
35.
The Choice
We did not land at the same port from which we’d departed. This was, in fact, no port at all, just a rickety pier in a reed marsh. The only thing visible in the misty twilight was a small shack, presumably used by the smugglers for their illegal trade.
The five of us—six, if you counted Vallino—could barely see three feet beyond our noses. What I smelled was not encouraging, though: mud, oozing gases, decayed plant life, and more than a hint of equally decayed animal life.
“So,” said Khara, who had changed back into her poacher’s clothes, “where to, Byx?”
I gazed at the ground, as if I could find an answer waiting there. The weight of the decision was too much to bear. I was just a pup. I wasn’t ready for so much responsibility.
I wasn’t ready to lead anyone. Not even myself.
“I don’t know where to go,” I admitted.
“Sure you do.” It was Tobble.
“I do?”
“To the place on your drawing.”
“What drawing?” Khara asked.
“I . . . it’s nothing,” I said, embarrassed. “A map I drew based on a myth. A silly tale. I was just a pup when I made it.”
Luca gave a short laugh. “‘Just a pup’? What are you now? Elderly?”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. Back on the isle, I tossed the drawing away.”
Tobble held up a paw. He reached into his leather pouch, dug around, and finally revealed my crumpled map. “Ta-da!”
“That’s twice you’ve rescued that old thing, Tobble.”
“Rescuing is my job,” he said proudly.
I took it from him. “It’s just a pup’s scribbling.”
“May I see it?” Khara asked. Gently she took the map from me, flattening it as best she could. “What is this place?” she asked, peering at the smudged lines.
“A mythical land called Dairneholme. My teacher said there was a river and a deep, deep valley, hidden away from the world on a magical sentient island that floated from place to place.” I looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Like I said: a silly tale.”
“A sentient island?” Khara said. “There are two such.”
“What?” I asked. “There really is such a thing?”
“They’re called rooklets, islands created in long-ago times. They’re not rock and earth, but ancient living beasts of enormous size. The rooklets move slowly over the ocean, attracting debris—anything that floats. Over many thousands of years the creature practically disappears beneath layer upon layer of dirt, floating trees, and seeds borne on the wind.”
Khara held the map close, trying to make out its features in the waning light. “One island is called Rhomboo. The other is Tarok. But if there truly is a valley and a river running through the island, Dairneholme can only be on Tarok. Rhomboo is much smaller.”
“Tarok,” Gambler muttered. “There’s a name to conjure with.”
“Why?” Tobble asked.
“It’s believed to be a carnivorous island,” Luca said.
I gulped. “Carnivorous?”
“The island itself is thought to . . . well, to eat humans and felivets,” Luca said. “The raptidons stay well clear of it, and of course there are no terramants. The only beings who know its location are the natites.”
We all fell silent. The word “carnivorous” had that effect, it seemed.
Cautiously, we picked our way through the marsh. The mist parted slightly and we glimpsed a road not far off.
When we reached it, Gambler said, “We must go either one way or the other. That way”—he flicked his tail, indicating north—“takes us near to the Murdano’s capital city, Saguria. It also takes us to the port of Zebara. If we are to find this sentient island, that’s the way.”
When I said nothing, he went on. “If we go south, we head back to places we’ve known. I can return to my own territory. Khara can rejoin the poachers. Luca can perhaps ingratiate himself again on the isle, or find his own people. And Tobble can go back to his folk.”
“Saguria, at least, is a civilized place. There’s not much to speak of in the southlands,” Luca said. “Other than a lot of squirrels and cochets.”
“Still, the farther north we go, the more we’ll encounter the Murdano’s soldiers,” Gambler said. “The border between Nedarra and Dreyland is very tense. Many believe the Murdano intends to invade Dreyland when he has sufficient forces, so Zebara will be an armed camp. We have me and we’ll have your blade, Khara, but the odds would be very long against us. And if by some miracle we find this mythical island, and if dairnes are there, then what?”
“There’s more to consider,” I said. “What about the felivets’ belief that the end of the dairnes is just the beginning? That more species will follow, if the Murdano has his way?”
“You base this on what?” Luca asked Gambler. “Your superior feline instincts?”
“We base it on the fact that felivets are students of history,” said Gambler evenly. “If you want to know the future, study the past. And the past tells us that there’s one thing you can be certain of with humans: they always want more.”
“More?” Tobble repeated.
“More territory. More power. More glory. It has always been so. And it will always be.”
The group fell silent.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Tobble who finally broke the quiet. “Look,” he said, “I’m only a small wobbyk. I know very little. But I choose to believe Gambler. At the very least, we have to consider the possibility that the Murdano means to wipe out the felivets next. And after that, perhaps, the raptidons.”
/>
He paused, as if carefully working out his next thoughts. “If the natites survive, it may be only as servants to the Murdano. This is wrong. This is not the world we want, is it?”
“No,” Khara said. “And yet we must consider the facts, Tobble. They say the Murdano has five thousand knights and a hundred thousand men under arms: archers, spearsmen, ax wielders. He has Araktik and her theurgy. He has the scholars and their science.”
“But he does not have the felivets,” Gambler said. “And maybe the raptidons will see the truth and join us.”
Khara shook her head. “Maybe. But I’ve always heard from poachers that raptidons hate you felivets. Do you really think they’d join with your kind?”
“I cannot say for sure,” Gambler admitted.
“There is only one way to fight lies,” Tobble said firmly. “With truth.”
He looked at me. And so did Gambler.
“It’s a simple choice,” Khara said. “South to what we have known, to live our lives as well as we can in the shadow of the Murdano’s growing power. Or north toward danger and only a fool’s hope.”
“I, for one, say north,” said Luca. He shrugged. “There’s nothing in the south for me.”
“Byx?” Khara said.
I gazed at them, waiting for me to tell them what to do.
Me.
The runt, the youngest and by-far-and-away smallest of my seven siblings.
Too young to be clever. Too small to be helpful.
Me.
“What do I know?” I said at last. “I’m just a pup. I can’t force all of you to go on such a pointless quest.”
I took the map from Khara’s hands and stared at it. “I should just accept that I’m the endling,” I said. “The eumony may have been premature, but when I die . . . well, then it will be time.”
No one spoke. Mud crickets made gentle music. The mist, softened to pink by the setting sun, hung over us like the question that only I could answer.
I fought back tears. “This hope of mine is ridiculous. And I’m a fool.”
“True enough,” said Tobble. “You were a fool to rescue me.”
“You were a fool to trust me,” said Gambler.
“You were a fool to believe me,” said Khara.
I sighed. How had it come to this?
“Well,” I said at last, “It seems we agree that I am a fool.”
“So, my fool of a dairne,” Khara said. “Which way?”
We turned north.
Part Four
Allies and Enemies
36.
Swordplay
Our journey would prove to be rough and wearying, and yet, to my surprise, I woke at sunrise looking forward to each day.
I knew the odds against me were long indeed. I knew that death could be waiting around the next hill. But every day brought new things for me to learn. Fresh scents, strange vistas, surprising species. For a curious sort like me, it was impossible not to relish the possibilities.
I felt the way I had when I’d walked into Ferrucci’s office and seen the walls lined with books. How much I didn’t know! How much there was to learn!
Luca was kind enough to give me a small leather-bound blank journal, not much bigger than my hand, a goose-quill pen, and a thin vial of ink. “Suspect you’ll make more use of it than I,” he said.
“But you’re a scholar,” I protested, although I was anxious to accept his gift. “Won’t you need it to take notes?”
“I am taking notes,” Luca said, and he tapped an index finger to his temple. “Foremost among them, I’m observing you. For years I’ve read about dairnes in books, and now, here you are before me, Byx: a real, live specimen.”
His knowing smile gave me pause. But I happily took the book, pen, and vial and tucked them into my pouch. Whenever it came time to rest, I wrote down my impressions of the day or drew pictures. When the ink ran out, Tobble and I gathered berries, which I crushed into a pale but adequate substitute.
At Khara’s suggestion, we followed the road by night and slept in remote areas during the day. This was perfect for Gambler, as felivets are nocturnal hunters, and I, too, was used to it. It was much harder for Khara, Luca, and Tobble, but they did their best to adapt.
On good days, we found sheltered places where we could make a fire. Once Khara managed to snare a juicy weldfox. Unfortunately, we had to eat it raw, because we were too near a long line of soldiers passing through. Another time, Gambler brought us a scrawny, slightly mauled cotchet we were able to cook.
Even then it was barely edible.
At one point we were unable to travel at night. Khara, who’d scouted ahead, had glimpsed a roadblock set up by the Murdano’s men. To bypass it, we walked far inland—something we could only do with light. This alone consumed two days.
Another time, Khara returned to camp silent, grim, and shaking after she’d been out scouting routes. In her trembling hands, she carried something wrapped up in the cloak of a Murdano officer. She handed the bundle to Luca, and he opened it to reveal a short sword, a long knife, and a pair of sandals—Luca’s city-boy footwear was falling apart.
Khara didn’t answer questions about what had happened. And we didn’t press her. The bloodstains on her shirt told us all we needed to know.
The next day we kept to the woods, where we found a pleasantly sweet stream meandering through a stand of mara saplings. The gentle breeze set their pink, clover-shaped leaves whispering. Gambler found a patch of sun and instantly closed his eyes. We settled nearby on the grass, welcoming the chance to relax, but Khara had other ideas.
“Luca. Byx. Come with me,” she said in the no-nonsense tone we knew well.
We obeyed. We’d all come to obey Khara, even Gambler, who often hunted or scouted with her. It wasn’t that they’d become close—friendship isn’t part of the felivet culture—but they shared a mutual respect.
Gambler opened one eye and yawned. “Good luck,” he said with a smirk.
“Why do we need luck?” I asked, but Gambler was already back to sleep, or at least pretending to be.
“What about me?” Tobble asked, trailing behind us.
“By all means, join us, Tobble,” Khara said, though it was clear to me that she hadn’t intended for him to come.
Khara led us to a level spot where the ground was covered in leaves. She passed the soldier’s sword to Luca, who held it the way you might hold a poisonous snake.
“Byx?” Khara said. “Take this.”
“This” was the long knife she had . . . found, along with a leather scabbard and belt. I attached the belt around my waist and took the knife. It felt strange and awkward in my hand. It was, after all, designed for a human grip much wider than mine.
“I am going to teach you both how to use those things.” Khara’s gaze was resolute, but her voice suggested she had doubts about her plan.
Luca and I exchanged panicked looks, then gulped identical gulps and nodded identical nods. My hand was sweaty on the knife’s hilt before Khara had even finished her sentence.
“Luca. You first, you’re taller,” she said, and I relaxed a little. “The basic move is the downward cut. You hold your sword like this.”
Khara demonstrated with her hands but did not unsheathe her sword. Still, I couldn’t help staring at it with a mixture of fear and fascination. Rusted and bent though it seemed, I was looking at the sword of Kainor, the Light of Nedarra.
“Put both hands on the hilt,” Khara continued. “Like so. You face your opponent with your left foot forward, balancing your weight.”
When Khara saw Luca’s awkward pose, she suppressed a sigh. She stood behind him and moved his hips and elbows until she approved of his stance.
“Position your sword vertically,” Khara instructed. “Oh, come now, Luca, you’re a very bright boy or you wouldn’t have been at the Academy. Vertical. You know the word, right?”
He did.
“Left hand in the lower position on the hilt. Hold the hilt clos
e to your chest. Good. Now push your arms forward and angle the tip toward the enemy. This makes it harder for him to sweep his sword toward you. Step forward with your back leg and slightly to the side.”
Luca mostly managed to follow her instructions.
“Now,” Khara said, “bring the sword down on the enemy’s neck.”
Luca glanced at her uncertainly, blinked, and sliced his sword downward.
Khara made Luca do this ten times. Then she said, “Good. Now try it on me.”
Luca shook his head. “But I don’t want to hurt you!”
Khara laughed, and as always, I was struck by how much I loved the musical sound. She drew her sword, which—I assumed because it was not drawn in anger—concealed its true nature. “Try.”
Luca tried, and she effortlessly blocked his blade. “Try harder.”
This time Luca struck faster. And again, faster. Soon, sweating and frustrated, he struck by surprise, slashing at Khara’s neck.
She knocked his sword aside like an annoying insect.
“You rest up, scholar,” Khara teased. “Your turn, Byx.”
I nearly swallowed my tongue. “I’m ready,” I said, trying to sound eager.
Khara pursed her lips, considering me. “You’re too short for the moves I taught Luca, and that may be an advantage. The Murdano’s men are trained to fight humans with swords, felivets with spears, terramants with axes, and raptidons with arrows. They are not trained to fight dairnes. They’ll have no experience facing a creature whose head is where a man’s chest would be.”
I nodded as if I understood. I didn’t.
“You’ll need a different approach.” Khara circled me. “Yes, I think we have to use your height to our advantage. Start by taking the same pose as Luca. Hips square, left leg forward, knife—well, let’s call it a sword—vertical. The scholar can explain that word if you’d like.”
“Very funny,” Luca muttered.
“Now you’re going to hold your sword vertically and leap forward, aiming for the ground just beyond the enemy’s legs while keeping the sword stiff and vertical.”