by Kim Wedlock
"And has it? So far?"
She pursed her grey lips, then, slowly, they all began to nod. "We been working on a few traps together, and we've caught a few, but they always get out. Hoomans are big - we're not sure where to start with 'em."
"'Start'?" Petra dared to ask, but she received only calculating looks.
Chillingly, the eyes simply fell back to Rathen. "We're muddlin' through."
"So it's been an improvement, then?"
"Yeah, I'd say so," the boy answered Garon, eventually.
"Then we've helped you."
"Yeah, I'd say so."
"Good. Then you can do something for us." Each child-creature regarded him with caution, while the rest frowned in surprise. "We've been in that forest for two weeks. We have no idea where Salus is, where he's been nor where he intends to go. We know his plans, and it's imperative that we stop them - but we need to know where best to direct our efforts."
"And you want us to find out? How d'you expect us to do that? We can't follow him every which way, y'know."
"He's targeting sites in the mountains and along Turunda's borders," he explained evasively, "but we don't know precisely which. But there's method to his actions, and he will have a map."
"And you want us to get it? He'll keep it in his castle, no doubt."
"He's not a king."
"No, but that big grey house is guarded about as well as. We know. One o' the cooks makes a scrummy gooseberry crumble, but we can't never get close to it! The one time we did..." They all shuddered.
"Well, this isn't a gooseberry crumble."
"No, that it ain't..." The boy turned away and the ditchlings' eyes focused onto a collective thought. They watched the creatures in silence, watching some nod, others shake their heads, but for the most part they remained perfectly still. Until, at last, the boy turned back around. But it was the mushroom-crowned girl who spoke.
"We'll do what we can."
And with that, they rose and left without so much as a nod of farewell.
"...Do you think they thought we meant they had to do it?" Petra asked quietly as they disappeared into the trees, but Rathen merely shrugged, then turned a stern look down at the little girl beside him. She smiled back sheepishly.
Though so close to the edge of the Wildlands and the road back into their own world, they didn't rush to move out. Instead they had the usual breakfast of rain tubers and strange, conical fruit and redrew the outline of their plan: head east, towards the mountains, and make straight for the nearest of the most likely ruins. Anthis had already pin-pointed two locations before his 'ailment' could cloud his judgement, and Garon had decided that it was unlikely that Salus would waste time trying to find and affect places that may not even exist. Therefore the most well-known of the two - or, rather, the only one that sounded passingly familiar - became their goal.
But after a lengthy reminder of the need for anonymity and that, for the moment, it still fell to Anthis as the least recognisable among them to gather food and supplies from settlements, a brusque hail was all that announced the arrival of yet more ditchlings.
Or, rather, their return.
The boy laid a torn canvas bag across the ground, and they all peered down at its grubby charcoal marks in question. Garon was the first to recognise it as a map, and Anthis noted the circles around the edges. Around Halen, around Fendale, around Ausokh, around White Barrows, Gennith's Point and Víla's Rest, and countless more besides. Some, he'd never seen before. Some were under water. And some had already been struck out.
The weight of their task landed like a mountain that had been uprooted and dropped upon their heads.
Eyes fell disheartened as Garon shook his head, and though he spoke with that same steadfast certainty he always did, it only crushed them further. "We can do this. We stop him at the others before the rest can become an issue."
No one offered him their sarcasm if just so they didn't have to hear it themselves.
"We know where to go now - and White Barrows was our heading." He looked to the ditchlings. "Has he struck it yet?"
"Not that we're aware of - mind you, the turk--harpies would know more about that. It ain't our area. Now," his eyes became shrewd, "what're you gonna give us for our trouble? We put ourselfs right in the line of danger for you, y'know."
"What happened?" Aria asked keenly, and the boy's eyes brightened.
"Oh! Well, we - well, they - scurried through that black forest o' theirs, through the gardens, dodgin' the dogs, the guards, the traps, and clambered up the ivy on t'other side of the house. 'Tweren't no problem, o' course, I reckon they thought no one was gonna break in in the mornin', and they definutly had the right place 'cause we been followin' a few of the less careful ones back. Anyway, up they clambered, peered inside that window he's always peerin' out through - all clear - jimmied it open and tumbled inside, and there was someone in there! She weren't in sight inishully, but she certainly was when they was in!" His audience stared on in concern. "But, when they was hangin' in the window, lookin' at her, her lookin' at them, she just turned around, picked up the teapot and left. She didn't seem in no hurry but it lit fire under their backsides, I tell ya. Fortunely, the map was already lyin' open on the desk, so they got a good long look and sent it all back this way as quick as they could, and we drew it out for ya."
"Did they get out?" Aria asked before the others could, her voice strangled in her throat. But to all their relief - and surprise - the boy nodded.
"No one else showed up, so once they had what they was after, they scarpered."
"I wonder if we can trust it..."
Rathen sent Garon a very sharp look. "He won't have expected ditchlings to rush in there and copy it, no matter which way you look at it. This is all we have. We have no choice but to run with it."
"They certainly did." Then the boy's craftiness returned. "Well?"
"Yes, fine. What is it you want?"
They wasted no time in pointing towards Petra, who immediately staggered backwards in surprise. "Me?"
"You want her to teach you something, you mean?"
But they shook their heads, and the boy jabbed his finger towards her again. "The others, they want what's 'round her neck."
While the others frowned, her eyes grew into saucers and stared back at them in horror.
"Her locket?" Garon asked in disbelief. "No. No, last time it was braids you wanted--"
"And this time it's that lockitt. We can always take this back..."
"We don't need it, we can remember--"
Petra stamped her foot down onto the canvas sack before the ditchling could begin to drag it away, and snatched her elbow out of Garon's hand as he tried to stop her from unclasping the chain. "We won't remember it."
He stepped back with a rough, dissatisfied sigh, but didn't protest. They watched her drop the fine chain into the small, dirty hand without hesitation, then bend down and scoop up the map. There was no trace of hurt or anger on her face. It was there, certainly, but she didn't let it show. How much of that, Rathen wondered, was for Garon's benefit?
The boy swung it around, dangling it from his fingers, and he and his companions watched it glint in the light. "Blindin'." He beamed and clasped it around his own neck. "Thanks very much. Now, I reckon that about concludes our busyness, so we'll be off - you all be careful out there. Oh," he glanced towards Aria and smiled as the others began to scamper off ahead of him. "Nug says hi."
Rathen sighed in defeat as Aria grinned and returned the greeting. "Why does Nug always have to say 'hi'?" He grumbled, then looked to Petra as she handed Anthis the map. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied with a brief, weak smile. "It's nothing. It got us this map."
"You didn't need to hand that over."
"And what about the next time we need their help and they withhold it out of spite? No, whether we like it or not, they've helped us out more than a few times. They even tried to rescue us - twice. We can't afford to lose their willi
ngness to help. And they did put themselves in serious danger for us just now." She smiled emptily again and stepped away for her things as the others began gathering up to leave. "It's fine."
Garon looked over Anthis's shoulder as he ruminated over the map. "White Barrows." He didn't apologise for startling him. "Do you know where it is?"
He hesitated, then shook his head with an irritated growl. "Not precisely..." But then his head snapped up and he shouted something after the ditchlings, the sour bite that now permanently coloured his tone ringing in his words. They returned in a moment, a snubbed look on each of their faces, and all but yelled 'Arkhamas' back at him before waiting irritably for whatever he had to say. "We need to get to White Barrows as quickly as possible. Get a message to the harpies and ask them to scout it out. We need directions."
"Oh, that all? O' course, Majesty, whatever you say. We'll get right to it, and have it delivered on a silver platter with a gold ribbon and eight iced buns, on the back of a snow-white weasel." They all bowed with an excessive flourish, which was a very bizarre sight, and scurried off again while Anthis growled at the offence. Then, they raised their bags, slung them over their shoulders, and made at long last for the tree line.
Fragments of warm light peeked through the leaves above, penetrating the forest here far more easily than it had in its depths, and before long they began to catch glimpses of the wild emerald fields beyond. Minutes later, they stood at the threshold.
Sunlight rained down on them. Its heat was almost tangible, pleasant in its freedom, and then smothering and inescapable. It ushered in a sense of hope, then immediately snuffed it out with the path and duties it illuminated before them.
But behind them was nothing but confusion and danger and compromise that sat out of their favour, and a threat they had no hope of understanding. In the sun lay their own world. Behind them was quite another.
But as the others stepped out in resolve and began their return to a familiar world, Rathen found his feet rooted to the ground and a sense of grief hanging heavily from his shoulders. There was a deep and desperate compulsion to stay within the cool shade of the trees, among the threat they didn't understand in the knowledge that it, at least, was natural, and had a purpose. And it was wonderful for that alone. And yet more wonderful still were elements that even now faded from his memory, things he couldn't quite find a grasp on but things he knew he desperately wished to keep, remain within and hold forever.
A mournful desperation rose in his chest, and a lump formed in his throat.
And then a hand slipped into his, and he looked down into Aria's radiant face.
She squeezed his fingers and kissed his arm. "It will be okay." She stepped forwards, carefully, cautiously, and crossed the edge of the tree line. "I promise."
With a deep breath, he followed her.
Chapter 39
The eyes that so casually observed him from across the desk were, Salus noted, strangely adept at concealing the strength of the old man's condemnation. As far as anyone else was concerned, it may not have been there at all. For anyone else, it probably wouldn't have been. But he could see it, and he knew the old man's face and bearing regrettably well enough to know exactly what was going through his mind.
His own face, however, was the picture of neutrality. A lie that had become so well-practised for the old man's benefit that not a trace of his insult and anger made it through his eyes. Which only pierced his opponent's with increased suspicion. He found himself enjoying it.
Malson sat taller, no doubt in an attempt to retain his imagined superiority - how deeply that rankled. "Explain."
Salus bowed his head in perfectly feigned obedience. "While General Moore moved to reinforce the east, Doana made the mistake of sending a few camps to give chase - which gave my people the opportunity to slip in behind them. In doing so, we discovered what appears to be their standing orders, which we're in the process of decoding, and have done what we could in the small window to sabotage them. We poisoned the water supply of a few and framed the commanders from others. Their numbers are thinning as we speak, from which we'll be able to observe which camps are bolstered by absorbing the men left over from the implicated commanders' and which are abandoned - and, above all, from which direction they truly intend to attack."
Malson nodded slowly, chewing over what Salus had claimed to be the fruits from poor intel suddenly working out in their favour. He'd left a few things out, of course, for prudent measure. For example, he didn't need to know that Doana's standing orders had already been decoded, nor what they contained, nor, in fact, that it appeared that every Doanan camp was a decoy. As far as the evidence pointed, Doana's armies were there purely to hold Turunda's military in place while covert actions occurred instead, and it was crucial, to Salus's far more tactical mind, that it be allowed to happen. Turunda's partial withdrawal to needlessly reinforce the eastern border had already confirmed his guess that if the military abandoned the stalemate, Doana would strike to provoke, razing a few towns and cities to regain their attention. It was far better in the end to keep the information quiet and the Crown out from underfoot. While the armies occupied one another, Doana was no doubt already sending individuals into Kora - and so was he. Better to let them think they remained in control and focus instead on disrupting their true task. It was a job made for the Arana.
And, neither did he need to know that, in cracking said code, they'd discovered that Doana had left something behind in their first meagre victory - a contingency plan buried beneath spells in Bowden.
Nor did he need to know that refugees had overrun the translocator room in White Heath, hindering their mobility in the western reach of the country. But that was only a temporary matter.
Finally, Malson raised his chin haughtily in spite of his acceptance. "I suppose that's something - though we have yet to see if it has truly worked in our favour. They may not be standing orders, but prior instructions for their arrival here, or even a letter to a loved one. Now - Ivaea and Kasire."
"We've managed to deflect them again, but war is dynamic and we have our own conflicts to attend to. Despite what you may believe, I can't truly have eyes everywhere.
"That said, Ivaea is now pushing Kasire back across the steppes and towards their joint border. They won't be a problem for a while."
He didn't need to know that their conflicts had obliterated one of his outlying watch points, effectively blinding him to a good stretch of the grasslands, though that was also temporary. Nor that a subordinate had died - also temporary, as far as replacements were concerned.
"Fine. And the tribes?"
"They're moving away."
He didn't want to know the means.
Malson sighed sceptically. Salus knew he was weighing the likelihood of the Crown's satisfaction. Then, once again, his oh so noble chin lifted and his strangely youthful eyes turned down his nose before proceeding to issue a few choice commands. But they were the same old things: move here, more eyes there, listen hither, follow thither. The same, worn out, senseless rubbish. He was increasingly convinced that the Crown was deliberately trying to distract him from the things that mattered, sending him nonsense tasks he knew would yield no results 'just in case we've missed something'. And all because they thought, in their comfortable discussion chambers with their fawning servants and fine, gold-trimmed robes, that they knew best on every subject under the sun.
Not that it really mattered to him anymore - he was ignoring most orders and handing over the usual reports, and they had no idea at all. He already had people moving, watching, listening and following, because he had never pulled back absolutely when he'd been ordered to, just in case they did miss something. His people weren't a flowing river, constantly moving and ready to be diverted. Some of them were lakes - steady and constant, guarding the same spot until a mighty force decided otherwise. And he had not decided otherwise.
In the end, the Crown wouldn't be 'satisfied with the results' even had he obeyed their every
misguided whim like a desperate, starving child. Because each of them, to a one, had the wrong idea about the Arana. 'Crown's Fang' it may have been - but not that of a dog, but of a spider. Untameable. Venomous. Something to be feared rather than conquered, for anyone who tried to bend those fangs to their will would only get themselves bitten. And Salus had many fangs, each more deadly than the last.
But rather than the Crown, as Malson sat there parroting his orders, he found himself pondering his suspicions towards the regal old man. He'd voiced no more personal requests, and indeed, he didn't ask about those he already had. Which was strange. Perhaps he trusted Salus to report when and if he had anything, or he was satisfied just knowing that a matter the Crown was continuing to handle poorly was being taken care of by someone who was not a politician. But somehow, Salus doubted it.
If he'd been discovered and reprimanded, his people would have known about it, and that in itself was suspicious. His own dissatisfaction with the Crown had suddenly fallen quiet, and it wasn't because the Crown had done something to remedy it.
So what was he playing at?
"And your request has been denied, again."
Even as Salus nodded his understanding with only a mildly disappointed frown, an obscene lash of fury boiled his blood. Despite everything, despite knowing better, he was still trying to play by at least a few of their rules, but the Crown was refusing to acknowledge him. It was as if they wanted him to take matters into his own hands but were too afraid to ask and risk casting themselves into disgrace should the public turmoil that would come of it be linked back to them.
In a way, it was just as well that he was taking one step closer towards that end every single day. And if the Crown continued to bury their heads in the sand and deny his requests for an audience to persuade the dissolution of the Order, he would wind up handling that, too.
He rose from his chair and bowed as the liaison turned and left.
