by Sally Green
March stared at Edyon and then back through the trees.
Love.
Edyon.
It was impossible. And yet . . .
“You don’t need to say anything back. I understand. I just wanted you to know. I know I look a mess and I probably smell awful and I’m scared of dying, but actually I’m happy.” He smiled. “I do love you.”
March didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure how he felt. Edyon seemed as handsome as ever, only more so somehow, with the tears in his eyes and the smile on his face. They had kissed last night, and they’d slept in each other’s arms, holding each other through the night, occasionally waking and kissing and sleeping again. Was that love? Were men supposed to do that? To kiss, to caress, to love each other? Edyon had risked his life for March, had held him when March was near to death. They were closer than March had been to anyone except his brother.
“I can’t think of all that now. We need to keep going.” And March grabbed Edyon’s wrist and set off again as fast as he could.
“I know,” replied Edyon. “I just needed to say it.”
Edyon kept up with him and March moved to hold his hand, gripping it tight, feeling Edyon’s fingers wrapped round his. March couldn’t afford to think about love. Not now. He’d think about it if they got out of this.
The sun was shining brightly above the treetops. March steered a course by it, heading south: the shortest route off the plateau. The trees were widely spaced and the going was fast and the weather warm.
On and on they went. They had to be nearing the edge of the plateau, but the edge never appeared. March knew they wouldn’t see it until they were close to it, but they’d been going south all day. The edge had to be nearby.
“Can we rest?” Edyon said.
“Soon.” The same answer as he’d given each time before.
Edyon stopped anyway.
“Soon, Edyon. Not now.”
But Edyon was looking back. “I thought I heard something.”
March listened. He could hear nothing but his own breathing. Then the distant but unmistakable sound of a dog’s bark. “Shits.”
“How far away do you think they are?”
“No idea. But we need to run.” And March took Edyon’s hand and ran. The ground was flat, the way clear. The dogs would be racing along.
Edyon was breathing hard, clutching his side, slowing a little, then picking up the pace, then slowing again, and eventually he waved his arms and stopped. “Can’t go farther.”
March looked back and held his breath to listen. The barking was louder. He grabbed Edyon’s arm and dragged him along. “We have to keep going.”
Edyon shook his head and stopped. “I do love you. I mean it. You go on.”
“No. We stay together.” But, looking at Edyon, it was obvious that he wouldn’t go far. March opened the bag and took out one of the pies, ripped it up, and threw the pieces around him.
“What’re you doing?”
“I put the yellow lips in it last night. We just have to hope the dogs eat it rather than us.”
Even if the dogs didn’t eat the pie, March wasn’t just going to give up. He had a knife. If there was only one dog, he could kill it with a knife. Two dogs would be a problem. Three . . . Well, he would just have to plan for one. The Brigantines would find it harder to track them without dogs. No, they shouldn’t give up hope yet.
On they ran, but still the edge of the plateau didn’t appear. Edyon slowed to a halt again. It was all just as before except the sound of the dogs’ barking was louder.
March said, “The poison can’t have worked. The dogs are closer. You keep going. I’ve got a knife. I can kill one dog, maybe two.” It was a lie but he had to say it.
Edyon shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”
But it was too late anyway. Two huge black dogs were racing toward them, froth at their mouths.
Edyon looked at March, his eyes filled with tears. “I love you.”
March took off his jacket and quickly wrapped it round his left arm, backing up to a tree.
The lead dog was nearly on them, well ahead of the other one.
“I think the one behind has slowed,” Edyon said. “Perhaps it is poisoned.”
One dog had slowed, but even so that still meant one dog to deal with, one huge bounding bulk of muscle with vicious jaws and long teeth.
His back against the tree, March tested his grip on the knife, holding his left arm out so that the dog would go for that and then he could stab it in the stomach. The dog raced toward March, ready to leap at him. And now it all seemed to slow as Edyon, holding out the cook’s bag, jumped in front of the dog, and it leaped and bit into the bag, taking Edyon and the bag rolling over as March dodged to the side. The snarling dog was straight up and on to Edyon. March ran at the animal and thrust the knife into its chest. It howled, releasing its jaws from the bag and turning to snap at March’s face. He put his left arm up and the dog’s jaws clamped on it. Its huge body pushed March onto his back. He lost his grip on the knife as the dog tugged viciously back and forth. How could it still be alive with the knife in its chest? March felt for the knife, pulled it out, and stabbed into the dog’s chest again and again. Blood spewed over him and the knife slipped from his hand, but at last the dog’s body was still, weighing him down, its jaws clamped on his arm.
Edyon pushed the dog’s body off March. “Are you hurt?”
March wasn’t sure. He was shocked, exhausted. There was blood all over him. His arm felt like it’d almost been wrenched from his body.
“March, speak to me. Are you hurt? You’re covered in blood.”
“It’s not mine,” March said. At least he didn’t think it was. He looked around. “Where’s the other dog?”
“Over there, lying on the ground. It’s not moving. I can’t see its lips from here but I guess they’re yellow.”
March got to his feet. He was shaking and unsteady, but he was still alive. “We need to go. The Brigantines will be here soon.”
“Yes. You look a bloody mess. I love you.” And Edyon kissed his cheek.
They ran on, but soon heard shouts behind them. “I think they’ve found the dogs,” Edyon said, glancing back. March looked too, but all he could see were trees and the trail of blood he was leaving.
They just had to keep going, though he was no longer sure of the direction. He tried to concentrate. Head to the sun. The sun was south.
They set off again.
But soon running felt easier. The land was sloping down, gradually at first, but quickly becoming steeper. March went from tree to tree to stop himself falling, grabbing them if he needed to, but Edyon passed him, inevitably tripping and falling and rolling down.
There were shouts from behind them. March was going faster and faster, almost out of control, but somehow keeping upright, leaping onto a ledge and then falling as Edyon tackled him and pinned him to the ground.
Just by March’s head was the edge of the slope. And far below was a raging river, a mass of white water and rock.
There was a shout from far up the slope—far, but not that far.
They’d nearly made it. March looked down to the river. It was impossible to climb down to it. He said, “We’ll have to work our way along.” However, glancing left and right, he could see the slope was almost vertical.
“It’s too steep and the rocks are too slippery,” Edyon said.
“We’re trapped.”
Edyon peered over the edge. “Actually, we’re not trapped. We can jump.”
“Jump where?” asked March.
“Down, of course. Into the water.”
March shook his head. “No. The fall will kill us.”
“Actually, it’s hitting the rocks that’ll kill us.”
“Exactly.”
“Have you g
ot a better idea?”
March looked up the slope and heard the shouts closer still.
“It’s a jump or a Brigantine spear. Look at it this way: at least you can enjoy the jump bit. And if we avoid the rocks, the river will carry us off the plateau.”
“I’m not a good swimmer.”
“Nor me. But I’d rather drown than be impaled by a spear.” Edyon looked at March. “I’ll jump first, into that pool, then you jump in the same place as me. Unless I’m a screaming bloody mess, of course, and then you jump somewhere else.”
March looked down. The pool looked tiny and very, very far away.
Edyon kissed March on the cheek. “We can do this. You’ve just fought a huge Brigantine hunting dog. This is nothing. This is just water.” Edyon was on his feet now, taking a few steps back.
“Just a moment. Let’s think about this,” March said, holding his arm out.
“Sometimes it’s best not to think.” And Edyon ran off the cliff’s edge.
March gasped. Edyon’s legs flailed in the air as he flew like a stone, down and down, hitting the river with a huge splash and instantly disappearing. The white water thrown up hid everything.
Where was Edyon? Where?
Then he popped up and waved at March.
March tried not to think, or rather made himself think only, Jump for the same spot. Aim for that bit of water.
But his body wouldn’t move.
“Oh shits.”
He looked at where Edyon had hit the water. If he missed that and hit rocks, he’d break his leg. He’d probably drown anyway. He really wasn’t a good swimmer.
Edyon was already floating off downstream. March had to join him. There was more shouting close above him.
“Oh shits.”
March ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped.
AMBROSE
DEMON TUNNELS
IT WAS impossible to know whether they were going north, south, east, or west. The tunnel curved a little one way then another, rising more than falling, heading toward the surface and the human world but never actually getting there. The longer they were down here, the more likely their luck would run out and demons would find them, though at least down here they were rested and warm. And somehow down here Ambrose felt closer to Catherine. He could be open with her and she was slowly being more open to him. He’d often imagined riding away with her to some foreign land to live and love and be free. It had always seemed an impossible dream—but now it was possible and they didn’t even have to run away. Now they were free. And Ambrose could be her lover and her protector. If only Catherine would see that. Yes, he was a fighter too. He had a duty to avenge his sister and brother. Anne and Tarquin hadn’t deserved to die; they hadn’t deserved to be tortured. They had to be avenged. That meant killing Boris, Noyes—even Aloysius.
Can you hear this? Can you hear me?
Catherine’s voice filled his head. She had placed her hand on his arm.
Had she heard his thoughts?
Thoughts of revenge? asked Catherine.
“Justice” or “revenge,” whichever word you choose, I can’t forget what your father did to my sister and my brother.
I’m sorry, Ambrose, for what was done to them. But I just want the killing to stop. I’ve been used as a pawn in my father’s game. I have reason enough to want justice for myself, for my reputation. My own father thinks nothing of me. Catherine’s grip on his arm tightened. He never once thought of me as a person, as someone worth caring about. But I take no pleasure in thinking of his death.
It’s the only way he’ll be stopped. In a fight against any Brigantine there are no half measures, it’s kill or be killed. And against your father and brother, that is the only way. I take no pleasure in it either. But it is my duty.
A few weeks ago it was your duty to fight for the Brigantines, to die for Aloysius; now you fight against them. Duties can change. Sides can change.
But, Catherine, in my heart I haven’t changed sides—I’ve always been on yours. I always will be. I was never truly one of your father’s men. I tried to ignore the problems, the poverty, the cruelty that I saw, by focusing on my routine. Just do the tasks: march, practice, check on the horses, check the food, check the security, check the lookout, check, train, check, train. And the only times I could forget all my tasks, when I could let my mind be free, was when I was with you. You have no idea how much I yearned for the brief times we were together.
That was the same for me! I used to love our rides on the beach. It was one of my very few pleasures. She caressed his arm. The anticipation as I walked to the stables, my fear that you might not be there, and then the joy of seeing you. And while I was riding I could pretend that I was free. Sometimes I imagined riding on and on, reaching the end of the beach and, instead of turning back, continuing on. With you.
Ambrose moved his hand to hold hers. Surely no one would see them in the narrow tunnels. I never realized you cared so much for me, Catherine. I hoped for it, but you disguised your thoughts, your emotions, so well.
I had to. My life—and yours—depended on it. And now we can hold hands and talk freely—if this is talking.
Touching you, talking and sharing thoughts with you—I never could have imagined doing such things a few weeks ago. Yet I wish you’d share more with me, Catherine. To feel your hand on my arm, on my skin. To hear your thoughts in my head. I’d gladly talk with you for hours and that would make this trek a pleasure beyond anything I’d ever imagined, and certainly better than plotting my revenge.
I’m glad I can distract you a little. Catherine ran her hand up his bare arm.
You distract me a lot. He turned and, walking backward, pulled her hand to his lips to kiss.
Ambrose, take care no one sees.
No one can see. We’re walking in a line. And he kissed her hand again before turning to face forward again.
I shouldn’t distract you; we need to plan for the demon at the end of this tunnel.
Ah, already you’re back to the task at hand. You’re a true soldier at heart, princess.
I’m no soldier but I am a princess. I must keep thinking, keep planning how we survive once we’ve faced the demon at the end of the tunnel.
We head south and off the plateau.
And then we have to hope that Tzsayn is alive and make our way to him.
Always Tzsayn!
Ambrose, we need his support. We have to ensure we’re not seen as the enemy. We have to warn the lords of my father’s plans to use the demon smoke—convince them of the danger they’re in, prove our allegiance to Pitoria.
Again and again we must prove it.
Yes, that is the burden of being a foreigner. But I’m willing to deal with it until my father is defeated. After that, who knows?
The group stopped and Catherine dropped Ambrose’s hand. They were at another fork in the tunnel. It looked remarkably like the previous junction and Ambrose had an awful feeling that they’d somehow got into a loop and were merely going round in a circle—a never-ending tunnel that led nowhere.
Catherine went ahead to Davyon and pointed the way—at least she looked decisive, though she had to be guessing. Tanya purposefully brushed past and Ambrose heard her thoughts.
Perhaps my mistress should hold my arm for a while.
Before Ambrose could reply, a huge clang came from behind. It looked like a fight had broken out; one soldier had another held up against the tunnel wall and a third was trying to pull him off. Rafyon pushed past Ambrose, touching him briefly, and Ambrose heard Rafyon’s thoughts. Fighting among themselves like rabble.
Ambrose stayed with Catherine and Tanya. Rafyon and General Davyon were the best ones to deal with this, and soon the fighters were separated—quite literally as now no one was touching anyone else. There were bloodied lips and angry looks, though.
Davyo
n came to Ambrose and Catherine, taking both their arms. It’s just stupid nonsense. Private thoughts made public! Everyone’s tired. But that’s no excuse. My apologies, Your Highness.
Catherine nodded. It’s understandable, but all that noise was loud. Who knows if the end of the tunnel is round the next bend and the demon has heard us.
They carried on, soon hitting a steeper section, and Ambrose scrambled up the smooth slope, the leather of his boots struggling to find any grip. Catherine was behind him and she slipped back and had to run at it on her second attempt. He held his hand out for her and pulled her up the last few steps. She held on to his arm, letting him scoop her round the waist. I wish we were riding on a beach together again. One day I hope it will be so. One day riding to freedom.
Ambrose, now you are distracting me. And she let go of him and moved forward.
Ambrose had to force himself to think of something else as he grabbed Tanya’s outstretched hand and pulled her up.
Thinking of something else, Ambrose? What were you thinking when you were touching my mistress?
Of the danger we’re in.
You risk putting Her Highness in danger if you’re seen as being too close to her.
We’re not in Brigant now. We’re—But they’d reached the top and there was a huge noise of clanging and clattering from farther back.
What’s that? Tanya added.
Ambrose had never heard anything like it before, but he knew what it was. Demons!
TASH
DEMON TUNNELS
THE DEMON howl behind her was followed by another then another. Tash had two instincts: run away, or turn and look. She turned.
There were five or six demons, maybe more—it was so confusing in the narrow tunnel. The first had Geratan by his throat, pushing him against the wall. The others were swarming past him. It was already too late to run.
