Ember's End

by S D Smith

  “But the Ruling Stone is a symbol of authority,” Smalls said, “not its basis.”

  “Still,” she continued, “the Terralains are a problem that complicates the war with Morbin.”

  Heather went on, telling of her time in Akolan, of meeting her parents and brother Jacks, of the ruse of the lepers, and the causers’ revolt on Victory Day to save the younglings and sneak them away to the secret Seventh District. She told how Father, at the last moment, had become the Tunneler and the Truth. Smalls listened intently, asking questions for clarity from time to time but keenly focusing on her account.

  “So, that is my side of the story,” she concluded. “What I don’t know is how Emma and Picket are situated now. I don’t know if they abandoned Cloud Mountain as planned or if they tried to infiltrate First Warren as some advocated. I don’t know. I know every avenue for our side is riddled with danger, and it’s likely the fight has been costly.”

  “I’ve missed so much of the war,” Smalls said, hanging his head. “I am so sorry for my folly. I should have listened to my wisest counselors. I should have done many things differently.”

  “It’s true,” Heather said, squeezing his hand, “but I know why you did what you did. And you meant well, I know. We all know it. And although Emma has never wanted to be what she now is, she doesn’t blame you. Picket blames himself, of course, but he has been a champion for the cause, and the fight goes on.”

  “Maybe they are better off without me,” Smalls mused. “Maybe Emma, who has less ambition, is better suited for the responsibility of ruling.”

  “Emma would be a great queen,” Heather said, “and she has been a bright light in the fight against the darkness. But the cause needs you. Your sister needs you. Rabbitkind and this whole wounded world need you.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Smalls said. Standing, he turned around slowly to gaze at the rocky confines of the cavernous pit. Clusters of smooth rounded stones dotted the floor, half-hidden in thick-grown moss. The scant light revealed high walls, propped up at their base in a few places by stacked stone and wooden support beams. Smalls frowned. “We have to escape.”

  A shrill, cackling laughter pierced the cavern and echoed off the walls. “Escape?” The shrill voice laughed again. “You seek to leave?”

  From the dim recesses of the cave’s edge, a dark form glided lithely into view. Moist and muscular, pale-eyed and smooth, with a faint hiss whispering over the silence of the rabbits’ arrested breaths. A dragon. It walked slowly into the open to stand before the clusters of slick round stones. “The keeper has abided here for many of your lifetimes,” he said. “You will see what the keeper has seen these endless years. You shall spend what remains of your short lives here. There is no escape … no escape possible from the dragon tomb.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  FADED MOONLIGHT

  Picket’s glider was losing height. He did all he could to prolong his sailing along in the sky, to get as close as he could to First Warren. He was quite near now but was dipping lower and lower. Even in height with the treetops, he flew ahead, scanning all around. To his left, the top of Forbidden Island stood out from the glittering surface of Lake Merle. Beyond it, the River Flint led back toward Grey Grove, north of which Morbin’s army massed and plotted doom for rabbitkind.

  The dam on the northern border of First Warren, built long ago, created Lake Merle. Forbidden Island rose high above six smaller islands that evenly flanked the bigger central peak—a desolate, foreboding sight. Picket felt a strange desire to go to the island and explore its barren surface. Why is it Forbidden? But there was no time for exploration. The war was careening toward its awful climax, and the end seemed certain to be not a glorious battle but a catastrophic massacre.

  He glided past the last of the trees and settled into the space between the forest and the city walls. He landed in the Black Gap, the burned-up barrier between the forest and the city. Small shoots of green grass peeked out beneath the charred mass, but Picket could not be comforted by their significance. Not now.

  Picket limped forward, gazing ahead at the broken west wall and the busy city within. This massive breach, so welcome to him when reinforcements had poured in through it during the last battle, now served its original purpose as the main gate of the city. It was the west gate, but some called it simply “the gate.”

  First Warren was at work, preparing for a fight it could not win. In their flight from the ruin of Harbone, he had flown farther than Helmer, Jo, and Cole—his fellow Fowlers—so he would reach the city first. The rest, including Uncle Wilfred, young Ikker, and his prisoner, would follow on foot.

  The sun rose above the ancient towers, and Picket shaded his eyes. He stumbled into the city, exhausted and downcast, walking down the old road toward the city center.

  “A cart, there!”

  Picket twisted to see who had shouted, then smiled as a tall, gaunt, one-eyed buck with red fur hobbled toward him. “Cap!”

  “Aye,” Captain Moonlight called back, smiling wide, “it’s me.”

  Picket smiled. “Last I saw you, you were in bed and looked awful. To tell you the truth, you don’t look so great now.” Captain Moonlight, leader of the resistance movement within First Warren’s walls for many years, had been wounded badly as he fought heroically for the city’s liberation. He hobbled out to greet Picket, clearly nowhere near his former strength.

  “Neither of us, I think, are what might be called ‘prime.’ But I’m all right,” Cap said. “Not quite fit enough to be on the front lines, but I’ll do my part. Like my old father years ago at the original Citadel of Dreams—which was just down the way, there—I’m supplying drinks and food. Not so much music, but we’re doing our best. I’m a quartermaster now. And you look like you could use some provisions.”

  “I am pretty low on energy,” Picket admitted.

  “We have a grand team, and we can find you something quick. Speaking of,” he went on, “have you ever met a taverner called Gort?”

  Picket smiled. “I have.”

  “That one’s as mad as moonbucks! But I’ll be dashed if he can’t make a meal fit for a hundred princes. He’s been at it for days. He’s got all them cooks in line and won’t suffer any fools. He’s even clapped a stopper over a few high-ranked officers.”

  “He’s quite a force,” Picket said.

  “He had a run-in with a lovable clown called Eefaw Potter yesterday,” Cap said. “I couldn’t see why Gort got so bent out of shape over a few broken mugs, but he nearly battered that poor potter.”

  “There’s some history there,” Picket said, rubbing his forehead.

  “So I gathered. I’ll stop yapping, Picket. I can see you’re plumb tuckered. Where are ya heading?” Without waiting for Picket’s reply, he called to a massive buck toting a cart piled high with barrels of greens. “Dump that load there, Ray Carter, and take this officer to … the palace?” He glanced at Picket, who nodded wearily. “To the palace, Ray.” Ray nodded and began unloading his cart, glancing wide-eyed at Picket.

  “Thanks, Cap,” Picket said.

  “Anything for you, General Sunshine.”

  Picket smiled, leaned against the cart, and shook hands with Ray.

  “If it’s all right, my lord,” Ray said, head down, “we’ll go round near the dam wall. The main way, as you can see there, is being worked on, and it’s all clogged into the square at the moment.”

  “Whatever you think best, Ray,” Picket replied, choosing to ignore the inaccurate honorific of “lord.”

  Captain Moonlight raised his voice again. “Weezie, there,” he called to a distant band of rabbits serving out meals to weary workers, “bring this buck some provisions!”

  Weezie wore an apron and was hard at work amid a busy party of serving rabbits.

  “We’re overwhelmed here, Cap,” she called back. “Why don’t you stop shouting orders for ten seconds and do it yourself?” Then she caught sight of Picket easing onto the cart. “Picket!�
� she cried, dropping her tray and dashing away. Remembering herself, she hurried back and gathered a board stacked with rations, along with a tall jug, and rushed over to the cart.

  After setting down her supplies and wrapping him in a hug, she gazed into his face. “What happened?” she asked, seeing the weariness and pain so plain there. “The rumors are all over that an attack is imminent—from Morbin, or Kylen. Or both.”

  He nodded.

  “And what they say about Harbone?”

  “The worst is true, I’m afraid. It’s bad, Weezie.”

  “Drink something,” she said, raising the jug as the carter, receiving a signal from Captain Moonlight, pulled Picket and Weezie down the old road. Picket saluted Cap, then drank deeply, wiping his mouth after.

  “Thank you.”

  “You must feel destroyed,” Weezie said when he had begun to eat a little.

  Picket nodded as the cart wound around the busy center of town and Ray carried them past projects on every side. On rooftops all over, new hatches and stairways were being installed. Along the sides of buildings, ladders were being fastened tight. They passed near the dam wall, where Heyward was examining an alcove at the base of the dam while workers installed what appeared to be large stone steps beneath the surface of the river.

  “Harbone was hard for you to see,” Weezie said. “You’re sad to think of what’s going to happen here.”

  Picket nodded, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry, Weezie. Thank you for taking care of me. I sometimes think you’re the last light I’ve got in an ever-growing darkness. Jo told me that Heather’s dead. That Tameth Seer heard it from Garten himself.”

  Weezie looked down. “I’m so sorry, Pick. Maybe it isn’t true, though.”

  “It feels true.” Picket leaned against her, laying his head on her shoulder. “It feels like I will fail everyone in the end, and no one I love will live to see the mending.”

  Weezie wrapped her arms around him and held him. “If we don’t see the mending, it won’t be because of you. If any of us ever do see it, then we’ll have you—in a big way—to thank.”

  “I wanted to see her again. I wanted her to be safe.”

  “But she was brave, like you. She chose to trade her life for the cause. Heather placed more weight on the hope of the mending than she put value on her own life. That’s how I want to live. And die, if I must.”

  Picket nodded. “Of course you’re right. And that helps me know what to say to Emma when I report to her.”

  “I’ll see you to the palace, but I’ve got to get back to my duties.” Weezie looked down and wiped her hands on her grimy apron. “I’m a servant here—here at the end. And I don’t mind. I have my bow handy for when they come. Until then, I’m a servant. My armor is this apron. It’s not very glorious, but it keeps me working the farm—though the farm’s never been so shabby—and feeding folks who need it.”

  “I envy your job. There’s nothing I’d rather do than feed folks alongside you.”

  “But we need you to fight right now,” Weezie said, staring into his eyes. “We need you to finish this. So that after …”

  “It’s hard to imagine after,” Picket said, trying to shake away the horrors of Harbone. “But I will keep fighting, Weezie. For them all. For Heather’s memory, and Smalls’ too. For this old city. For you.”

  “First, you have to rest. After you report to Emma, you must rest,” she said.

  After he reported to Emma, Picket did rest. At Emma’s order, he was placed in a room that also held a perilously wounded officer he knew. Lieutenant Drand lay motionless and silent but for his ragged breathing. Picket could see that he had lost a leg in the last battle. He seemed likely to lose his life. Will this war leave us with nothing? Will it take every limb, every life, and grind us down to powder? Will Morbin really win?

  Picket closed his eyes, unable to fight off the exhaustion any longer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE LAST LORD CAPTAIN

  Picket’s sleep was deep and seemed to be impenetrable. But a break came, small at first, and he heard talking.

  “He’s asleep. I shouldn’t wake him.”

  “He’d want to know.”

  “He’s shattered, Jo.” This was Cole’s voice. “This might be his last chance for sleep.”

  “How long have I been out?” Picket asked, blinking and levering up on an elbow.

  “You had several hours, Pick,” Jo said quietly.

  Picket nodded. “What’s happening?” he asked softly.

  “Wilfred’s back, and Mrs. Weaver’s been talking to the buck we took prisoner at Harbone,” Cole answered. “She’s managed to get a lot out of him. He thinks he’s outsmarted her, but we’ve been watching them for a little while with Emma—that is, with the princess—from behind a hidden partition, and Mrs. Weaver has been bleeding away the intelligence from him, all while he thinks he’s being clever.”

  “He’s already revealed that Morbin’s plan is to release the Six—those most elite raptor lords—in waves of attack,” Jo went on. “The attack on Harbone was Garten’s part, with his best rabbit soldiers, wolves, and minor raptor support, and acted as a preliminary to their main assault. The Six, with their elite Preylord and wolf complements, will attack First Warren in stages, with Morbin coming last of all, to finish the razing of the city.”

  “Tameth Seer had agreed to attack the city first,” Cole said. “Then, whatever is left of us after that, the raptors will finish off in their waves.”

  “Why don’t they come at once and just wipe us out?” Picket asked.

  “Prince Winslow—since he was so close to Garten Longtreader and Lord Falcowit when he ran this city as governor—has been explaining this to Emma and helping make sense of the intelligence this prisoner is giving up,” Cole explained. “It seems their dark lore demands that the Six be worshiped, and they have a deep belief in the structure of the Six being lords—more than lords—almost like gods to their followers. Their priestess confers this honor during their dark rites. The Six command their own sectors of the High Bleaks, with Morbin as overall king. But if one of the Six falls, all of his sector will be thrown into chaos.”

  “Are we sure that’s true?” Picket asked.

  “Winslow was convincing,” Cole answered. “Emma and Mrs. Weaver believe he’s correct.”

  “When Falcowit was killed, there was a mess up there in the High Bleaks,” Jo said. “That’s part of what they’re doing north of Grey Grove. Installing the new Sixth. It takes several days.”

  “So, when they’re done and they attack, they don’t want to lose them all in one unlucky stroke,” Cole said. “They plan to attack in waves.”

  “It’s tactical and, I think … kind of mystically crucial for them,” Jo said.

  “That helps us, as awful as it sounds. Did he say when they would attack?” Picket asked, swinging his legs off the bed with a groan. He was fully awake now.

  “No. He doesn’t seem to know,” Cole replied. “He only said that after they perform these rites, installing the new raptor king, they will begin to attack.”

  “Should we glide there and try to learn what they plan?” Picket asked.

  “To Morbin’s camp? I don’t think so,” Cole answered. “We’d never get anywhere close without being seen. And we have watchers already as close as can be. We’ll know when they’re on their way.”

  “Let’s go down,” Picket said. He and Jo headed for the door, followed by Cole.

  A few minutes later, the three friends had descended to the cells below the palace, where that infamous Captain Daggler had made innocent rabbits disappear—and murdered many—for years. But now the palace was under Emma’s command, and the prisons were nearly empty. After creeping quietly past five stout guards and behind the hidden partition, they saw Emma sitting alongside Helmer and two of Emma’s brothers in the darkness. Winslow and Whit both listened intently, while Winslow took notes. Picket heard Mrs. Weaver’s calm voice.

  “Y
ou persist in thinking our position indefensible?”

  The young buck cackled. “Old hag!” Picket’s blood rose. “Our forces will sweep you from this city like a withered old doe maid clears the bones from a Preylord’s nest.”

  “An old doe like your grandmother, perhaps?”

  “My grandmother is an inwaller in Akolan and lives in peace and prosperity,” he said with a snarl, rattling his chains. “She has ended her rebellion against destiny. She will live out her days while everyone you love is torn to pieces in this war.”

  “But we are ready for their attack by air,” Mrs. Weaver responded, making her voice waver ever so slightly. The young buck seized on it.

  “Ha! The lords will come by air in unstoppable numbers, and the wolves will pour in by land and sea! They will come overland from fortresses you’ve never seen and by sea in ships of death. The ancient great wolf king will come, the cousin of Garlacks, King Farlock. His army alone would end you all! The regular wolf packs will pour out of boats sent from a fort in the Waste by the hundreds and break on these weak defenders with unstoppable appetites.”

  “King Farlock?” Mrs. Weaver let out a whimper. “Ravaging wolves, like the afterterrors?”

  “This attack will make the afterterrors feel like a happy memory. You will all be killed. And I will laugh so loudly! My howling laughter will be the last thing you hear.”

  Mrs. Weaver’s voice was calm again, and full of pity. “I’m sorry you have been so deceived. I’m sorry you have swallowed these lies. But I am not entirely without hope for you. Maybe, young one, even you might be cured in the mending. I shall always hope it can be so.”

  He railed on, shaking his chains and shouting curses, as Mrs. Weaver calmly left. They followed her out into the hall, all of them except for Winslow and Whit, leaving the ranting buck to scream his grotesque threats.

  After walking down a short hallway, they ascended the steps back up to the higher levels of the palace. Picket walked beside Emma in silence for a while. She stopped when they reached the door to her council room. She looked worried.