The Only

by Katherine Applegate; Michael Grant

  It was impossible to forget that war was brewing all around us, surrounded as we were by armed sentinels. Still, a welcome calm descended on me as I gazed at my dear friends. My old clan, slaughtered by troops of the Murdano, had been replaced by this new, multispecies family. Tobble. Gambler. Sabito. Renzo, the easygoing human who’d spent much of his young life as a skilled thief. Dog, his slobbering canine companion.

  Maxyn, my fellow dairne, sat next to me. When we’d discovered his tiny, fragile colony of dairnes still alive, just knowing I wasn’t an endling had seemed a kind of victory. But dairnes, it had turned out, were still endangered, walking the thin knife’s edge over the precipice of extinction.

  On my other side sat Kharassande Donati, now known as the Lady of Nedarra. Khara, my former captor, my rescuer, my friend, the person for whom I would give my life if needed.

  When we’d first met, Khara had been pretending to be a boy while she served a gang of poachers. She’d captured me, saved my life, then saved it again and again. Now she led an army unlike any ever before assembled: the Army of Peace.

  We’d gathered not to fight a war, but to stop one. Two powerful tyrants, the Murdano in my native Nedarra, and the Kazar Sg’drit in Dreyland to the north, were poised on the edge of conflict. Both of them wanted war, but their peoples simply wanted to live their lives in peace.

  It was a strange and untried idea: an army whose sole purpose was preserving peace. More than a few of our soldiers had never lifted a sword. They were farmers, bakers, herbalists, clerks, blacksmiths, coopers, midwives, masons, and carpenters. Some were servants or apprentices. Others had been thralls, freed by us, for Khara refused to tolerate slavery in any form. Many of those marching with us were young and green. Others were so old that this would almost certainly be their last adventure.

  Fortunately, we had experienced warriors as well, hard men and women with sinewy muscles and appraising eyes. Some bore the visible scars of war. Even my friends and I had seen our share of danger in the months leading up to this moment.

  As a crescent moon sailed the sky, we huddled together, telling stories and singing songs. Renzo, in fine voice, contributed an especially bouncy tune. It involved a lad in love with a fickle lass, and although I couldn’t catch all the nuances—humans are impossibly confusing when it comes to affection—I noticed Khara rolling her eyes more than once, her soft brown skin flushed in the firelight.

  After a while we fell quiet, and Khara motioned for me to join her for a private conversation.

  “Would you like company?” Renzo inquired, standing.

  Khara laughed. “Not in the least. This is between Byx and me.”

  “Your loss,” Renzo said with a dramatic sigh, bowing with a flourish.

  Khara’s tent was identical to the one I shared with Tobble, although hers had a guard posted at the front flap, a burly young man clutching a long spear. He snapped a salute as we entered.

  Khara lit a candle, then settled on her small cot, gazing at me thoughtfully. I sat on an overturned crate next to a makeshift table covered with maps.

  “There’s been an interesting development,” she said.

  “Interesting good? Or interesting bad?”

  “I may have to ask you to undertake a mission.”

  I nodded. “Whatever you command, my lady.”

  “Byx, you’re not one of my soldiers. You’re a friend. I don’t command you. I can only ask.”

  “Nevertheless, I will do as you . . . ‘ask.’”

  “I’m not yet certain, but if I need you, it could be dangerous. It involves the natites. They’re feeling us out, trying to decide whether to support the Army of Peace”—Khara paused—“or to oppose us.”

  “Maybe I’m missing something. What can sea creatures do about a land war?”

  “It’s a good question, Byx, and the answer is that I don’t know. Of the six governing species, the natites are the hardest to read. But if we can enlist their support, they could put an end to any plans by the Murdano to invade Dreyland by sea.”

  “I don’t envy you having to figure this out,” I said.

  “The thing is, Byx, I won’t be the one figuring it out.” She gave me a knowing, conspiratorial smile. “You will be.”

  “Me?”

  I think that’s what I said. I may have managed nothing more than a yelp.

  “The natites are asking us to send an ambassador. Someone to listen to their concerns.”

  “But I’m just . . . I’m just . . .”

  “Byx. The days of ‘I’m just a simple dairne’ are over. If I can be the Lady of Nedarra, you can be Ambassador Byx.”

  “No I can’t!” I cried.

  Khara leaned forward, arms on her knees. “I can lead the army, Byx. But our goal is to stop a war, not engage in one. For that, we need diplomacy. And that means I need your help.”

  It was such a simple statement. If Khara needed me to do something, then I would do it or die trying.

  Although I didn’t have to be happy about it.

  “Would I be alone?” I asked, aware of a cold ache in the pit of my stomach.

  Khara shook her head, and her dark curls glistened in the candlelight. “Alone? No, of course not. For a start, no power I know of could separate you and Tobble. So clearly our excitable but ever-polite wobbyk will accompany you. I wish I could send Gambler with you, but, well, felivets and water . . .”

  I smiled, recalling the sight of mighty Gambler tiptoeing nervously into a shallow subterranean lake.

  “Maxyn isn’t well enough to travel. And Sabito? If felivets don’t like water, raptidons like it even less.”

  “Renzo?”

  “Renzo,” Khara repeated, and I could have sworn the idea of him leaving her side made her wistful. “Yes, I suppose he might prove of use.” She nodded. “Yes, Renzo. Absolutely.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “It’s just a few hours to the Telarno, where we’ll set up camp near a town on the river. The next morning we’ll meet the natite ambassador. He’ll take you, Tobble, and Renzo by watercraft to the natite queen’s palace. There you’ll listen to her thoughts and present her with the Subdur natite shield and crown we . . . borrowed.”

  We hadn’t so much borrowed those items as stolen them. But in fairness, we’d been afraid for our lives at the time.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  “I know you will,” said Khara.

  We both stood, but as I moved to leave, Khara took hold of my arm. “Byx,” she said, “I have loyal generals and a devoted army. And I count Renzo, Tobble, Gambler, and Sabito as the truest of friends. But it’s you, more than anyone, I’ll be counting on in the days ahead.”

  “Me,” I repeated. “Why me?”

  “Because we’ve been through so much together. And because I know I can always count on you to tell me the truth.” Khara glanced at the wrinkled pile of maps on her little table. “I’ve done my best to plan for what’s ahead, Byx. But one thing I know: the battlefield laughs at plans.”

  I managed a small smile.

  “As I see it, we face three important challenges as we try to stop this war. The first is to ensure that the natites are on our side. For that, I need you to be my eyes and ears. You’ll talk to the natite queen, watching for signs of duplicity and listening for reasons to trust her.”

  “I can do that,” I said, although I could hear the doubt in my own voice.

  “The next challenge,” Khara continued, “will be to recruit others to our cause. I’ll need you to be the voice of the Army of Peace. To explain our mission and secure loyalty. You’ll need to be convincing, if you sense they are wavering. Dairnes are trusted by other species, and we shall use that to our advantage.”

  “I can do that,” I said again, and this time my uncertainty was obvious.

  Khara put both hands on my shoulders and smiled. “How lucky I am to have you by my side, Byx,” she whispered.

  “You didn’t say what the third challenge is.”
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  “The first two problems are diplomatic, but the last . . .” Khara’s hands dropped to her sides. “If—when—the Army of Peace comes face-to-face with the Murdano’s army and the Kazar’s forces, we’ll either stop the war and prevail, or we’ll die trying.”

  I gulped past the sharp rock that seemed to have lodged in my throat. “You can count on me, Khara. I promise to be your eyes and ears, as well as your voice.”

  “My eyes and ears, my voice, and my heart as well.” Khara’s eyes were glistening. “Now get some sleep. You are about to go on an adventure.”

  “A dangerous adventure,” I murmured.

  “Byx, my friend. Is there any other kind?”

  4

  On the March

  Early the next morning we headed across the rolling plains of Nedarra, four abreast, five thousand strong, a column bristling with tall lances. The day was clear and cool, the sun bright. Now and then a helmet or breastplate would catch a beam of light and practically blind me with the glare.

  Perhaps a tenth of us rode horses. The rest, mostly humans, marched on sore feet. We’d been on the road for many weeks, but our spirits were high.

  Many of the horsemen and -women in the column wore either the blue of the Donatis or the orange of the Corplis. But Khara had asked a group of seamstresses to come up with a new livery in colors that would represent a united Nedarra, and she already wore the first of those tunics. It was pale blue, emblazoned with a vivid green representation of Urman’s yew, the tree where a great interspecies peace pact had been made many years ago.

  Still, it wasn’t Khara’s tunic that caused our soldiers to whisper and nudge each other. It was the sword at her side. The famous weapon, wreathed in theurgic spells, appeared plain, even shabby, until drawn in anger. When that happened, its power was breathtaking. One glance at that glowing blade, and it was clear why it was called the Light of Nedarra.

  After an hour of riding, I urged Havoc into a trot and came level with Khara. Her chief general, Varis, politely moved his big steed aside to let me approach. General Varis, recently promoted, was a member of the Corpli family, long enemies of the Donatis but now allies with the Army of Peace.

  On Khara’s other side rode Bodick the Blue, a woman of middle age who had lost an ear and an eye in a long-ago battle, and three fingers on her left hand in another. She was called “the Blue” because she had covered a gruesome scar on her cheek with an indigo tattoo of a coiled serpent.

  I’d grown quite fond of Bodick. She was not, perhaps, the type of person you’d invite to tea. But she was most definitely the sort of warrior you wanted nearby if battle came your way.

  “How are you feeling, Byx?” Khara asked.

  “A bit preoccupied, to be honest,” I said.

  “You needn’t be. I have complete faith in you.”

  I decided to change the subject. “How much farther are we traveling today?”

  “We’ll be asking permission to make camp outside the fortified village near the river. We should get there before noon.”

  “They can hardly say no to an army,” said General Varis. It sounded like a threat, but then, everything the huge, red-haired human said seemed threatening. Once, when General Varis had politely asked Tobble for a drink from his waterskin, the little wobbyk had practically fainted.

  “True, General,” Khara agreed. “But we must honor whatever decision they make. This is the Army of Peace, and peace we will have.”

  “Unless, of course, we are attacked,” General Varis countered, sounding vaguely hopeful.

  Khara nodded. “Unless.”

  “Are you expecting an attack, General?” I asked.

  “I can’t lie in the presence of a dairne,” he said, with a trace of what might have been a smile. “Some of our people would love a small battle.”

  Bodick patted her sword. “Just—you know—to break up the routine,” she said.

  “Let’s hope they remain frustrated,” Khara said. “But if we are attacked, you can be certain we’ll defend ourselves with such righteous fury that no one will dare test us again.”

  Sometimes, even to my own seasoned ears, Khara sounded nearly as terrifying as her generals. Had she changed as much as I had? Or had she simply embraced her larger self, the leader she was meant to become?

  And what had I become? Certainly not Byx the ambassador, despite Khara’s confidence.

  Gambler loped over, with Tobble astride his back. Riding Gambler had proven to be more comfortable for Tobble than sitting behind me on Havoc. And in spite of his complaining, Gambler seemed to enjoy the company.

  “When do we stop to eat?” Tobble asked me. “My breakfast was much too light. Caterpillars never seem to satisfy me. Too much fuzz.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be stopping,” I answered. “See that walled village beside the Telarno River in the distance? The plan is for us to camp there outside the walls.”

  “Never fear, Tobble,” said Khara with a smile. “It’s just a league and a half, at most.”

  “My apologies,” Tobble said, “but my stomach is not as polite as my head. It won’t stop grumbling.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. Dairne stomachs whine when we’re hungry. By comparison, grumbling has always seemed rather . . . obvious.

  “Even after all that eshwin yesterday, I wouldn’t object to a little snack,” said Gambler, glancing over his shoulder at Tobble. “And as it happens, I have a perfectly tasty morsel riding on my back.”

  “On your back?” Tobble twisted around to look, then caught himself. “Oh, I see. But of course you’re just teasing,” he said, patting Gambler’s flank.

  “Am I?” Gambler asked, a glint in his pale blue eyes.

  “Gambler,” Khara said, “we do not eat our comrades.”

  “Agreed,” said Gambler. “Unless they annoy us.”

  I winked at Gambler. He smiled back, although a felivet smile is hard to distinguish from a felivet snarl, and both are unnerving. “I’d be careful, Tobble,” I warned. “Gambler does look a bit hungry.”

  “Not funny, Byx,” said Tobble. “Not funny at all. Stop being silly.”

  “You know, Tobble, I might be described as silly, but I’m pretty sure Gambler has never been called that.”

  “Silly,” Gambler repeated with a grimace. “I could eat you just for that.”

  Behind us, a sergeant started a chant to keep his soldiers moving at the same speed, his gruff baritone setting the pace.

  Your left. Your left. Your left, right, left.

  The spears on our backs are sharp and long,

  The Army of Peace is mighty and strong.

  Heed well the warning in this, our song:

  We’ll have your heads if you do us wrong.

  I’d come to know these chants well, and sometimes even joined in. The soldiers called them “cadences.” The rhymes were often humorous, and just as often belligerent.

  I found myself humming along to the cadence call, but I couldn’t really keep time because my horse didn’t care what the sergeant yelled. Havoc chose his own pace, thank you very much. One of four horses gifted to us by Khara’s family, he was small enough for a dairne my size to manage. Most of the time, anyway.

  A few minutes later, we neared a small pond, its surface still as ice. A large tree anchored one end, and a nest of chittering blue squirrels sat suspended over the water on a thick black branch.

  It reminded me instantly of my favorite place when I was small, the sandy shore of a deep water hole called Phantom Mere, far from any village or road. We like swimming, we dairnes, another trait we share with many dogs. This particular lake was overhung by criller trees, which generate thick, dangling vines covered with glossy, pale yellow leaves. My siblings and friends would climb the trees, seize the vines, and swing out over the water.

  Some of the more adventurous ones would spread their glissaires, the fine extensions of our coats that allow us to glide like flying squirrels. Those attempts invariably led to sudden plunges
, huge spouts of water, and gales of laughter.

  It had always looked like fun, but I never tried it myself. The lake was cold and dark, and its name didn’t help matters. I was afraid.

  “Come on, Byx! Don’t be such a pup!” my older siblings used to tease me.

  “I will . . . just not today,” I’d always answered, though I’d never found the nerve to join in.

  It might seem strange that I’d count a time of embarrassment and timidity as a precious memory. But every single recollection of those days was sacred to me now. They were all I had left of those I loved, and those who loved me in return. Sometimes, late at night, those memories seemed more real to me than my current strange existence.

  Still, the thought of my younger self, trembling at the edge of that water hole, brought a rueful smile to my face. I’d been afraid of a body of water that held nothing more alarming than a few glimmering fish.

  Had you told me then that a day would come when I’d spread my glissaires, leap from a tall building, and glide into the path of the Murdano’s evil sorceress, I’d have rolled my eyes. Had you told me I’d stand boldly before the Murdano himself, or lead a dread Knight of the Fire into a trap, or find a way to attack a fleet of Marsonian ships, I’d have laughed out loud.

  I turned in my saddle to catch one more glimpse of the little pond. Behind me, dust hovered over the army as it marched along. One of the soldiers tossed a stone into the placid water. The rock vanished into the darkness with barely a ripple.

  5

  The Night Before

  Just before noon we reached the walled village, which we learned from a passing farmer was called Callumweir. It looked less and less impressive the closer we got. The walls weren’t much higher than a tall human. Gambler could have cleared them in a single bound.

  Khara went to parley with their mayor, a tall, flaxen-haired man named Tarang the Pale, and took me along as her truth teller. We returned after half an hour with permission to camp our troops outside his town. When the townsfolk learned of our mission, twenty-three of them volunteered to join the Army of Peace, including Tarang himself, who resigned as mayor and arrived in camp hefting a double-edged ax.