Ember's End

by S D Smith

  Of course she’s worried.

  “We’ve got to come up with something to stop them,” Emma said. “To slow them down. To tilt the balance significantly. The alcove idea could help, I know. And we might be able to fight off Kylen’s forces—might!—but we can’t stand one wave of the Preylords’ attack, I’m afraid, let alone six. Not to mention wolf hordes led by legendary kings attacking overland and by boat.”

  Picket felt useless. He had no idea what might make as uneven a battle as could be imagined even remotely more level. “We will do our best, Your Highness. We will …” He was going to say that they would all die bravely, but he didn’t think it right to say aloud.

  “Did he give up anything more while we were away?” Jo asked.

  “Nothing much useful,” Mrs. Weaver said. “Maybe Winslow will have more in his full report, some nuance he picked up. I will say that the mention of Farlock does unsettle me deeply. He has been a distant rumor from the north, out beyond the High Bleaks. His cousin, Garlacks, was an early foe of King Jupiter, and his death caused Farlock to send Garlackson and a vast number of his soldiers to fight alongside Morbin against us. If Farlock himself is really coming, then it is ill news indeed.”

  “All true, wise Mother,” Helmer said. “But there isn’t much more we can do about that now. We can do something with this renegade rabbit.”

  “Such a proud and energetic evil I have rarely seen among rabbitkind,” Mrs. Weaver said. “Perhaps never.”

  “He’s deranged,” Cole said.

  “The sad thing is that he isn’t deranged, young Cole,” Mrs. Weaver said, not unkindly. “He has his wits. He is not insane. He is wrong, and wicked. He is choosing the part of the enemy. He has every day submitted to the vile lie of Morbin’s way, and he cannot even see the road back home. It is sadder than madness, I’m afraid. Far sadder.”

  “What will we do with him?” Jo asked.

  “I would save him if I could,” Mrs. Weaver said. “He deserves a trial and swift justice, but he has been useful to us—unwittingly useful—and we have no time for a trial.”

  “He stays in chains,” Emma said. “We have to prepare for this attack—well, these attacks.”

  “Such attacks have not happened here, at least not of this magnitude,” Mrs. Weaver said. “The old captains fought fantastic battles before your time, Your Highness, but this will be on another scale entirely.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to fight alongside the old captains again,” Helmer said. “To have them here, even if it is the end.”

  “Harlan Seer would have some insight, I’m sure,” Mrs. Weaver said. “He had such vision. I remember how he changed the way Edward and I pursued our entire vocation because of an offhand comment. He seemed to leak out insights.”

  “Was he killed in the afterterrors?” Emma asked.

  “No, he and two of his fellows went on a quest,” Mrs. Weaver answered, “and were never seen again.”

  “They were gone when the fall happened,” Helmer said. “And they never came back.”

  “They were your friends and fellow lord captains, Helmer,” Mrs. Weaver said, “and I am sorry to bring it up.”

  Helmer looked down. “I was the least worthy of survival,” he said. “Would that any of them were with us now. But Stam and Fesslehorn followed Harlan Seer’s quest, and the rest all fell after the king’s murder.”

  “Perkin One-Eye, the greatest of your father’s friends,” Mrs. Weaver said, smiling at Emma, “and Pickwand and Gome. The seven lord captains of Natalia. I would like to put our old seven against the Preylords’ six raptor kings. That would help even the odds.”

  “A little,” Helmer said, rubbing his arm absently. “But the least is all that remains of the seven. And I am old.”

  Emma looked down. Picket felt pity for her, knowing she was struggling to find something to say that might lift spirits and spur action, but she seemed bereft.

  “What was Lord Captain Harlan’s quest?” Picket asked. “And why did Captains Fesslehorn and Stam go with him?”

  “It was a fool’s errand,” Helmer said, smirking. “Those three were the most likely to go on such adventures. Especially Fess and Harlan.”

  “Lords Fesslehorn and Harlan led the Apothecaries Guild, did they not?” Mrs. Weaver asked.

  Helmer nodded, smiling wryly. “They were always so close to some discovery that would ‘change everything.’”

  “Lord Fesslehorn was a historian,” Mrs. Weaver said. “I remember attending his lecture on the Leapers not long after Edward and I met. He had researched the Leaping and the Lost Book for a long time. He had fascinating theories about Flint and Fay.”

  “The quest was to find some cure, I think,” Helmer said, shaking his head. “Harlan told me, before he left, that when they returned everything would be different.”

  “How different it is,” Mrs. Weaver added sadly. “What were they looking for?”

  “Fesslehorn said it was a plant,” Helmer answered, “something called True Blue.”

  Emma’s head came up. “What did you say?”

  Chapter Twenty

  PAST MASTERS

  Picket listened as Emma probed further.

  “It was True Blue?” she asked Helmer. “You’re sure of that?”

  “That’s what he called it,” Helmer said, frowning.

  “There’s something …” she began, her face scrunched up in thought. “Please, tell me more.”

  Helmer bowed and went on. “They were always researching things with plants and concoctions and took the greatest pleasure in what seemed to me to be minor discoveries. So I wasn’t moved when the last breakthrough—I had heard of so many supposed last breakthroughs—came and they were thrilled. Though it did seem to be more intense than other times. The king himself knew about their discovery and was, I knew, excited by the quest. He gave them his blessing, and he wanted to go with them himself. But Garten dissuaded him. It was around this time that I was sent away on a ghost mission. Lord Rake was with the main army, far away, when Garten sprang his trap. We fell right into it. I should have …”

  Helmer paused and looked away a moment as he rubbed at the bend in his right arm. Wincing, he continued. “I didn’t find out till later that Harlan, Stam, and Fess had even made their journey. The other lord captains were killed, along with most of the lords, and I never knew much about Harlan’s quest. But it was True Blue they went to find, for certain. What, Your Highness, is True Blue?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma answered. “But I’m certain I heard Heather refer to it back at Halfwind.” She opened the door to her council chamber. “Heyward, please come here.”

  In a moment, Heyward appeared in the hallway, bowing low. “Your Highness?”

  “Heyward, is Prester Kell in the city?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s working with Lord Ronan on the gate.”

  “Please send a brother votary to ask him to come to me as soon as possible. Not you, Heyward; I need you here.”

  “At once, Your Highness,” he said, bowing. He hurried away, his blue robe swishing with his haste as he called out to another blue-robed brother.

  “Mrs. Weaver,” Emma said, “please take Jo and find the oldest apothecary in the city. See if you can get him or her here. Captain Moonlight, or one of the palace staff from Winslow’s time, might be able to help.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Mrs. Weaver said, bowing. She ambled away with Jo at her arm.

  “Let’s have our council,” Emma said, sighing. “Maybe someone’s unearthed a marvel that will thwart our enemies. Captain Helmer, update them all on the intelligence we’ve had from the prisoner. I’ll be in soon. Picket, stay a moment.”

  Helmer bowed, then entered the conference room. Cole followed. Picket wasn’t sure what Emma was thinking, and he suspected she was just trying to be proactive amid the crushing reality of what they faced, but he stood by her. She caught his concerned expression.

  “You think I’m neglecting the main objective t
o run down an insignificant mystery?”

  “I think you’re trying,” he replied. “And I’m going to be by your side, trying along with you, until the end.”

  “There’s something about that True Blue,” she said. “I almost feel like Heather, on the verge of seeing something important. I can’t explain it, but I think it’s right to track down this story of Harlan Seer’s quest.”

  He nodded. “And you are doing all you can for the defense of the city already. You knew something was wrong with Kyle before any of us. I trust your instincts. I’ll walk beside you wherever you go, Emma.”

  “Well,” she said, smirking in the way she had when they first met, “you’ll shuffle beside me.”

  He smiled. “If we’re going to run this mystery down, we need the lords and captains to focus on the fight.”

  “It sounds like they already are,” she said, cocking an ear to the rising volume of conversation within the room. “We need to get in there.”

  “After you, Your Highness.”

  They entered amid an intense argument in which several councilors were talking at the same time, and Captain Frye’s voice rose above the others.

  “Too much risk, you say? It’s all a dice throw now, bucks!”

  They saw Emma, and the room went suddenly silent. All present rose and bowed to the princess. She nodded and found her seat. Picket sat down beside Helmer, and she began.

  “Lords and captains, and Lord Captain,” she said, nodding to Helmer. “Please tell me you have some brilliant ideas for how we can counteract the enemy’s overwhelming advantage.”

  A short silence followed before a gravelly voice broke it.

  “I do have an idea, Your Highness,” Captain Frye said, glancing sideways with a scowl. “Release the prisoner.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  YESTERFLOWER

  Picket limped back down the long stairway toward the cells. His knee ached, but he hurried on. Emma strode silently beside him, distracted by her many cares.

  “Cap reminded me of something earlier. Remember when Eefaw Potter shattered all those lovely mugs?” Picket said, smiling over at her.

  “What?” she asked, jarred out of her reverie. “Oh, old Master Potter? Ha! Which time?”

  “One mug smashing was more memorable for me than the others.”

  “Of course,” she said, laughing harder now at the memory. “I wonder where he is now.”

  “He’s here,” Picket replied. “Masters Potter and Gort are helping Captain Moonlight serve out meals.”

  “I would like to see them,” she said.

  They had reached the cells. She could hear Captain Frye’s harsh voice haranguing the prisoner. “You’ll die for these lies, traitor!”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Emma shouted, rushing in. Picket ran in beside her. The prisoner growled at him.

  “This villain’s being quarrelsome, Your Highness,” Captain Frye snarled.

  The prisoner smiled defiantly. “I know you’ll die soon, you useless old one-armed geezer!”

  Picket’s blood rose at this insult. He remembered when Captain Frye’s arm had been mangled by wolves. It was after Kyle had betrayed his own. Much like this traitor. Picket lunged for the prisoner, tripped on his bad leg, and slid on the floor. The traitor barked a satisfied laugh, rattling his chains with delight.

  Picket looked up as Captain Frye drew his sword and pointed it at the prisoner’s neck.

  “Hold, Captain!” Emma cried. “It’s bad enough that you’ve let our ground defense become irreparably neglected, but now you’ll ruin our chance to get anything else from this prisoner.”

  “As I said, Your Royal Novice,” Frye snapped back, “it takes time to prepare for a land invasion by wolves. It’ll take us at least two weeks to have them ready!”

  Picket sprang up. “That’s no way to speak to the princess! If you’d spend less time meddling with prisoners and more on those defenses, they might be ready within the week.”

  “You have as much experience as she does,” Frye shot back. “As in, none. I was going to war before you were born, Junior.”

  “Why must we argue?” Emma shrieked. “It’s nothing but arguing, all the time!”

  “Because of incompetent old fools—” Picket said, just as Captain Frye shouted him down.

  “If you think I’ll be lectured by a scrub like you, you’re wrong!”

  Words shot back and forth, angry and harsh, while the prisoner looked on with pleasure.

  “Captain Frye!” Emma cried, for the moment silencing the angry argument. “I’m finished with this. Take this traitor outside of the city and … do whatever you think best.”

  The prisoner scowled. This sudden turn enraged him, and he shot an angry look at Emma. “No matter what you do to me,” he spat, “in a matter of days there will be nothing left of this place, or any of you. Nothing but broken bricks and bones picked clean.”

  “Captain,” Emma said coolly, “take him away.”

  “With pleasure,” Captain Frye said, face twisted in spite.

  “Come with me!” Emma shouted at Picket and stomped out of the cell.

  Picket glowered a moment, then followed, muttering to himself.

  Once in the hall, Picket sighed and exchanged a fretful look with Emma. She shrugged and headed for the stairs. When they reached the upper levels again, Helmer was speaking closely with Heyward, Jo, and Prester Kell.

  “Your Highness,” Helmer said, bowing alongside the others as Emma approached.

  “Thank you for coming, Prester Kell.”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” he answered, touching his ears, eyes, and mouth, then laying a hand gently on her head in a blessing. “How may I help?”

  She turned to Jo. “Any luck?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. Mrs. Weaver is waiting with an old apothecary—so old she can’t be moved from her bed. It’s not far.”

  “Good. Prester Kell, will you join us?” she asked.

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Lead the way, Jo.”

  Jo led the way, and the small band followed. Heyward, after bowing to the princess and then to Prester Kell, hurried back to his work.

  Picket labored to keep up. The pain in his leg was beginning to feel so familiar that he hardly thought of it, but it still required extra effort. They crossed the busy square where the seven standing stones loomed large, holding so much meaning for them all. It was rabbitkind’s first parents, Flint and Fay, who long ago were said to have passed over the gap between Immovable Mountain and the Blue Moss Hills by leaping across seven tall stones, leading the other Leapers, who would begin a new world together. Morbin had caused these stones to be topped by statues of the Six and Garten Longtreader, his traitorous ambassador and Picket’s uncle. But, having recaptured the city, Emma’s liberators had destroyed all traces of this desecration and restored the memorial to its original intent. The stones were meant to honor Flint and Fay and the Leapers and to serve as a solid reminder to First Warren’s residents and visitors of their history and identity. Picket gazed up at the seventh standing stone with a woeful foreboding.

  Jo led them past the imposing tall stones and toward the ancient arch marking the boundary of Old Town. Picket’s mind was alive with schemes. He remembered his wild flight and fight high above the city, remembered ramming home the flagpole into an attacking raptor. He replayed the battle and considered what forces were certain to invade here soon. They had fought only a few raptors and a garrison of wolves, and it had taken uniting forces, clever strategy, and spectacular heroics to see them through. True, they had killed one of the Six, one of the raptor kings, but now they all would come. Now the sky would truly be blackened with shadows of raptor hordes. King Farlock would descend on them with his wolf army. Other wolves would come. It would be genuinely impossible odds, and he finally fully realized that Emma was right to seek out any angle, however tenuous, that might tilt the scales even slightly their way.

  “Just here,�
�� Jo said, passing under the stone arch and hurrying down a cobblestone street. He led them past several boarded-up homes and shops and into a neat but ancient establishment that smelled as if a hospital and a cookhouse had been joined. They entered one at a time through the narrow door, Jo, followed by Emma, Prester Kell, Picket, and finally Cole and Helmer. The shopfront was clean, with jars of many sizes staged throughout, most with labels like “stumproot” and “rosewash.”

  They quickly passed through the front, and, after descending a narrow spiraling stair, they came to a modest living space with a fire glowing on the hearth. In the corner, Mrs. Weaver sat at the bedside of an ancient doe. The older rabbit’s eyes were closed, and her face was worn.

  “Your Highness,” Mrs. Weaver said, unsteadily rising to bow, “this is Missy Dreft. Missy dear, this is the princess, Emma Joveson.”

  “Bless you, Highness,” Missy wheezed, her eyes flickering open a moment to reveal milky-white unseeing pupils. “May you rise and reign.”

  “Thank you, Aunty,” Emma said, kneeling by the old doe’s bedside and, with Mrs. Weaver’s guidance, taking her hand. “May I trouble you with some questions?”

  “Of course,” Missy said, her voice catching as she labored to speak. “I will do all I can. I understand that the end is near.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is,” Emma said, “else I would never trouble you.”

  “I am your servant, Highness, and I am delighted that you have liberated our city at last. I wasn’t sure I would see the day.”

  “Aunty,” Emma said, “have you ever heard of True Blue?”

  Missy’s eyes widened, and she coughed. “Why, my dear girl,” she said when she had recovered, “True Blue is our long-lost source of understanding and ascension. Your Royal Highness, True Blue is Firstflower. It is our path of life.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AUNT MISSY’S HISTORY