Until the man came to a sudden halt directly in front of him.
Ven shuddered. He wasn't certain why, but it seemed that the eyes were staring at him as if he were a monster in the dark.
"Nain!" the man shouted to the others in the wide, waving sea of highgrass.
Instantly the sparks of light flickered into life again.
"He is in my charge," Tuck began, but his words were drowned by the sound of dozens of arrows singing through the air and thudding into the wagon board on which the forester was standing.
"Silence!" commanded the shadowy figure, looking at Tuck. He turned again to Ven. "Come over here, Nain, and keep your hands where I can see them."
It never occurred to me that being Nain would put me, or my friends, in danger. Even when Tuck had left me out of the firefighting, no one else suffered because of what I was.
I had experienced a few times when people did not treat me well because of my race. And my older brothers and sister, Matilde, occasionally told me stories of what it was like before I was born, when the humans in Vaarn teased them or even avoided them because they were Nain. Most of that ended the day Luther, my third oldest brother, bit off the thumb of Jimbly Toddsworth and spat it into the bay. Toddsworth was an obnoxious human boy who was bothering Matilde every day on her way home from school, and Luther is big and not all that bright. So when Jimbly wouldn't stop, after repeated warnings from Petar and Osgood, Brothers One and Two, Brother Number Three reacted the only way he knew how.
I guess they are right when they say Number Three is the charm.
Anyway, after that, no one really bothered my family very much. By the time that I, Brother Number Twelve, the thirteenth child, came along, we had been treated normally for many years, so I never knew what racial prejudice felt like until I came to Serendair.
Now it seemed I was about to discover how bad it can really be.
The king had warned me that the Lirin and the Nain didn't get along too well. I guess I assumed that wouldn't apply to me. But now that I was standing in the dark in a wagon, surrounded by Lirin who seemed a little less than pleased to see me, I knew how foolish I was to assume anything like that.
If I survive, I will have to make a note to avoid that assumption in the future.
"Ven," Tuck said quietly, "don't you have something to say to these men?"
Ven swallowed hard. "I-I'm Nain, yes, but a peaceful one," he stammered. "I mean you no harm—"
His sentence was choked off as the dark shadow seized him and dragged him out of the wagon.
The world swam before his eyes as his head hit the side of the wagon. Ven could hear the gasping of his friends as he thudded to the ground. All the air was knocked from his lungs. He found himself momentarily staring at the dark clouds racing along the black sky above him, knowing that his head was about to ring with pain as the shock wore off. Just as it started to, he was flipped onto his face in the grassy earth, his hands tied quickly behind his back.
From what seemed like far away, he heard Tuck's voice calling urgently.
"Please! Let him speak! Ven, can you hear me?"
Ven's ears were barely working as he was dragged to his feet. He could tell that he was in the clutches of many men now, roughly tying him and beginning to stuff a gag into his mouth.
"Ven! What were you told to say?"
Over the pounding of his head, Ven struggled to make sense of the forester's words. He tried to concentrate, but his brain felt loose and wobbly. He tried to think back to the moment he had met Tuck, the beginning of what was turning out to be a nightmarish journey. What was the king thinking, sending us out like this into the eastern lands? he wondered, trying to hold onto consciousness. Surely this is even worse than being chased by the spies of the Thief Queen.
At the thought of the king, the memory came to him. He turned his head quickly away to avoid the gag.
"I-I am the herald—" he began.
His words disappeared as a heavy cloth was shoved roughly into his mouth.
"Let him speak!" he could hear Tuck insist as he began to black out again. He struggled to breathe as Tuck's words returned to the Lirin tongue.
A moment later, the gag was pulled from his mouth.
"Speak," growled the dark man.
Ven spat out a wad of spit, coughing, and drew a deep, ragged breath. His heart was beating hard in his chest.
"I am the herald of—His Majesty," he began, "Vandemere, high king of Serendair." The air in his lungs ran out, and he took another painful breath.
"Keep going," the forester said.
"And as such I—claim his—protection." Ven pushed out the last word before everything went dark around him. He was vaguely aware of the highgrass around his forehead as he fell forward on his knees.
He remained there, breathing shallowly and trying to regain full consciousness as the Lirin voices began talking again in their strange, musical language. It was the last thing he remembered before the darkness took over, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next thing he knew, Tuck was shaking him gently by the shoulder. It seemed as if almost no time had passed.
"Is there more?" the Lirin forester asked quietly.
"Hmmm? What?"
"Did the king give you any instruction past claiming his protection?"
"Yes. Why? What's happening?"
"Don't try to move," Tuck said. "Lie still and listen." His voice was soft. "We have come across a large patrol of Lirindarc soldiers, forest dwellers who do not often leave the woods. They are guarding the fields above the northernmost edge of the Enchanted Forest, a place they normally do not roam."
"Is that why they are so unfriendly? Because they are a different kind of Lirin than you are?"
"They are Lirindarc, but generally they get along well with Lirinved. I am not sure why they are so hostile. But I actually think they are more angry about your presence than mine. When the Lirin feel threatened, they are suspicious of all Nain, as the Nain are of Lirin."
Ven thought back to his father's shipbuilding shop in Vaarn, where he had occasionally waited on Lirin. Best type of customers to have, his father had once said of them. Respectful, courteous, don't talk much, honest, always pay on time, and expect high-quality work. Welcome in our shop anytime. He rubbed his eyes. How different things are here from my home.
"Why are they so angry and suspicious?" he asked.
"It's a question of broken trust. I can't speak for the Nain, obviously, but the Lirin dislike and distrust the Nain for breaking faith, for shattering the trust that was between them long ago. It means that Lirin born long after that breaking of faith still resent it, even though it occurred in another lifetime, and hate the Nain for it.
"Your claim of the king's protection is being checked out while we wait," Tuck continued. "A group of messengers have been sent out. I don't know to whom they have gone—probably a local commander or perhaps the forest warden inside the tree line. But whoever it is, I hope he or she believes you, because if not, we may be parting company here. It's their intent to imprison you as a Nain spy. If that happens, what do you want me to do with your friends?"
Ven shook his head, trying not to vomit.
"I don't have any idea," he said. "If they let you go, I guess you should take them back to the castle, all except Amariel. You've got to get her—well, if you take her to the Inn, Mrs. Snodgrass will know what to do with her." He fell silent, realizing that without the cap, Amariel would never be able to return to the sea.
Tuck nodded.
"I hope King Vandemere will be kind to the others," Ven whispered. "Maybe he can get Clem back home, and find Char a spot on a ship—"
"Do not get ahead of yourself," Tuck said. "Wait and see what the puzzle is before you try to solve it."
"Are the others all right?"
Tuck nodded again. "They are very nervous, but at least they're not fighting."
"That's good," Ven said, trying to remain calm. "All that fighting was my fault—Nain are good at causi
ng conflict. Back in Vaarn, my brothers say good morning by kicking each other off the wharf."
Tuck smiled. "Try and stay quiet. We are still surrounded by as many archers as you have hairs on your head. There is nothing else to do but wait."
"Can I go back to the wagon?" Ven asked. "I want to make certain my friends are all right."
Tuck put the question to the all-but-invisible guards in their strange language, and received a reply a few moments later. The highgrass parted, and another shadowy guard appeared next to Ven.
"Keep your hands high in the air," Tuck advised. "Do not give them any reason to use their tracer arrows."
They don't seem to need much of a reason, Ven thought as he made his way through the grass and back to the wagon. They shot the wagon board just because they heard a Nain was inside. I'd hate to think what they'd do if we gave them a real reason.
He opened the gate in the back and climbed in.
"Shhh," he said as his companions flinched nervously. "It's just me."
"Is anybody aiming at you?" Ida asked. "If so, sit as far away from me as you can."
"Not that I know of," he replied. "But it's always possible."
"It's always possible with you, Ven," Clem said pointedly. "I'm trained to be a curate, for goodness sake. I'm supposed to be respectable. If my pastor knew how many times I've been under arrest or at the point of an arrow since I've known you, he would call me home in a heartbeat—or fire me."
"People certainly do seem to get set on fire a lot around here," Amariel said.
"Shut up," said Ida. "You should talk, with your ugly neckscars and your jagged teeth. You look like you barely survived a fire yourself."
"I didn't mean to be disrespectful," said the merrow. "I apologize." Ven shuddered at the softness of her voice, the lack of spirit in it.
From the darkness of his corner of the wagon, Char sighed.
"Stow it, all of you," he said. "What's goin' on now, Ven?"
"We're waiting to see whether they are going to arrest me as a spy or not."
"Oh joy," said Clemency. "And if they do, what's going to happen to us?"
Before Ven could answer, a shout went up from the wide grassy fields. The wagon lurched forward, causing the children to fall over like clothespins popping off a line that is snapped.
"I guess we're about to find out," said Char.
The wagon rumbled over the bumpy ground, slowly following the moving waves of highgrass. Ven could sense that the Lirindarc soldiers were closer around them now, even though he still could not see them in the moonless night.
The merrow looked over the side of the wagon, then up into the sky and shuddered.
"In the sea, we never travel when the moon is gone," she whispered to Ven. "It's like a shark traveling without a pilot fish—not a good idea. It's so easy to get lost when the world is so big, and so dark."
"Why are you two always whispering?" Clem demanded. "If you have something important to say, it might be nice to share it. And if it's not important, it's probably not worth risking us getting shot."
As if to punctuate this point, the fields to both sides of the wagon lit up with streamers of fiery light. A volley of arrows thudded into the long sides of the wagon, causing the children to jump, then settle into anxious silence.
The anxious silence became anxious sleep as the wagon traveled on. Ven rested his aching head on one of the horse blankets, trying to blot out the nightmares of what was waiting for him at the end of the ride. He woke and fell asleep again time after time, each new dream bringing even worse horror with it. By the time the wagon rolled to a stop, he was totally frightened and not at all rested.
He sat up as the wagon stopped.
The night was gone. He knew that even before he looked into the gray sky from the sound of the birdsong in the moist feel of morning dew in the air. The grass smelled sweeter than it had the night before. His friends were stretching and waking nervously.
Clemency was the first to look over the side of the wagon.
"Oh dear," she whispered. "Well, Ven, it's been good to know you."
19
Alvarran the Intolerant
VEN RAISED HIMSELF UP ON ONE KNEE SO HE COULD SEE OVER Amariel's head.
Now that dawn had broken, he could see the vast expanse of the Wide Meadows all the way to the horizon. Rolling hills of greengold highgrass stretched until they met the lightening sky, fringed with occasional stands of trees to the north. To the south he could see the northernmost tip of the Enchanted Forest in the distance, its immense trees dark green and vibrant, like living mountains.
Between the wagon and the forest stood a massive army. Now that the sun had risen, the Lirindarc were visible. They stood in loose rows by the thousands, many more than Ven could count, fanning out in an ever-widening triangle that reached as far as he could see. The Lirindarc were tall, slender people, men and women alike, with broad shoulders and lean, muscular arms and legs. Their skin was brown from the sun, and their hair, eyes and clothing all blended in with the color of the grass.
And every one of them was armed.
"Criminey," Char whispered behind him.
Standing at the point of the triangle was an honor guard of soldiers. A semicircle of eight archers had their arrows trained on the wagon, while two more with wicked-looking spears stood on either side of a solitary man.
He was unarmed.
He wore on his head a wooden crown in the middle of which a golden leaf was carved.
The man stood straight as an arrow himself. His dark hair was long and striped with gray, framing a face that did not have even a hint of a smile. His eyes were also dark, and he stared directly at the children as if he were looking into their souls. His clothing, while regal, was also simple, made for wearing in all kinds of weather. In his hand was a long, twisted staff made of polished wood, on top of which was a golden leaf like that in his crown.
"Any idea who that might be?" Clemency asked.
"If I had to guess, I would say that's Alvarran the Intolerant," said Ven.
"Who?" demanded Ida.
"The king of the forest Lirin."
Tuck nodded. "Aye."
"We're in trouble," said Char.
As if to prove his point, the Lirin king banged his staff on the ground.
In response, the front rows of archers pointed their arrows at the wagon as well.
Alvarran cleared his throat. Even from the long distance away, the children could hear the rumble.
"You are wasting my time," he said in a voice that sounded like thunder. As if in reply, the wind picked up, making the highgrass bow down respectfully before him. "Get out of that wagon and get over here."
Ven hurried to the back of the wagon and opened the gate. He vaulted down onto the grass, as the arrow sights followed him, and held out his hand to Amariel.
"Come on," he urged the others. "No point in making him grumpy."
"I'm guessing we're a little late for that," Clem said in a low voice. She waited until Ven had helped Amariel out of the wagon, then climbed down and offered her own hand to Ida, who refused it. Char jumped down after her. Tuck climbed down from the wagon board and followed them.
They hurried through the billowing grass until they were in easy sight of the Lirin king. They continued approaching until Alvarran banged his staff on the ground again. The vibration brought them to a halt.
The Lirin king stared at them for a long time. The only sound in their ears was the gusting of the wind around them.
"King Vandemere must have lost his mind," Alvarran said finally, disdain dripping in his voice. "What would possess him to send a Nain messenger to me—a Nain brat, no less? It is a sure sign of his youth and inexperience. How regrettable. Does he not know what a grave insult this is?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.
When King Vandemere mentioned the task he wanted to accomplish—the puzzle of figuring out why a dragon was attacking Nain settlements, discovering what
would make it stop and telling the Nain in return to give back what the Lirin wanted, which in turn would make the Lirin give him what he wanted—I was certain that he was only trying to help the kingdoms over which he was the high ruler get past their grudges. Now, however, it seemed as if his attempt to make peace by sending me there was something that could in fact lead to an even more unpleasant situation.
I wanted to explain that. I wanted to try to fix the situation, to be a good ambassador for the king.
But the look on the face of the man who had the words "the Intolerant" as part of his name was so terrifying that all I could do was stare at him.
That probably wasn't helping the situation very much at all.
"I'm sure he didn't mean it that way, sire," Ven said when he could finally speak.
"Is that so?" demanded Alvarran. "Then perhaps I should explain this to you, Nain child. Had you been an adult, coming to the borders of my lands at a time when your people are preparing to invade, you surely would have been put to death before you could deliver any sort of message. But rather than that happening as it should, because of your age it is necessary for me to hear you out before I kill you, rather than be seen as unfair. I have a long enough name as it has. I have no desire to be called 'Alvarran the Intolerant and the Unfair.'
"So what do you want? Or, more correctly, what does King Vandemere want? Speak, so that my archers can do their job, and I can return to my breakfast."
"Er—" Ven began. Suddenly his stomach flipped as beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He could hear the sound of thousands of bowstrings being drawn just a little tighter. Whatever he was about to say disappeared from his brain as the curiosity that had been brewing there turned to terror.
Tuck cleared his throat.
Ven glanced over at the Lirin forester. His face with solemn, but his green eyes were twinkling. He nodded slightly, a gesture of encouragement. And as he did, Ven remembered what the king had told him to say.
He cleared his own throat and took in a deep breath through his nose.
"King Vandemere states that if you will send him the greatest treasure in your kingdom, he will swear fealty to you and ever after will call you 'sire'—er, sire."