by S D Smith
Picket looked to the ridges above and, seeing nothing, his heart sank.
Where is Bleston?
The catapults, under Helmer’s command, were their only hope against the deadly birds of prey.
“Jo!” Picket shouted as the soldier sent arrow after arrow into the wolf army. “To Helmer!” he called. Cole joined them, and the three hurried toward the catapults.
The wolves that had broken this far behind their lines were fighting alone. Together, Picket, Jo, and Cole made a difficult band for any single wolf to defeat. But it wasn’t long before Picket heard the swishing of wings above him, and turning, he saw a hawk closing in.
The small band of rabbits dropped to their backs on the ground, their blades jutting up like deadly nettles. Jo sent his arrows flying, but the hawk dodged and dipped as he descended. He hovered above them, beating his wings and slashing with a long sword. Picket barely dodged the cleaving swipe. He rolled over as the blade cut a long furrow in the dirt. Picket gasped, gazing up at the hawk with wide eyes.
He was out of ideas.
The hawk cackled, brought his blade around, and beat his wings. He was ready to strike. But he was struck by a speeding barrel. The catapults! The bird spun, then spiraled down to crash into a pair of advancing wolves. The barrel dropped and landed, lit but unexploded, right where Picket, Cole, and Jo lay sprawling. The fire was inching closer to the keg.
Terrified, the three rabbits scrambled to their feet and fled. The keg exploded behind them. There was a flash of light—a bright blazing orange rimmed in gold. The concussive wave hit Picket, sending him crashing down to fall in a heap, his fur singed and head aching.
Shaking his head, he rose slowly to his feet. At first, he could hear nothing. His head pounded and his ears rang.
Shaking off the pain and confusion, he ran for the catapults. But Cole, looking singed and battered himself, grabbed his arm and led him back. Picket had been running the wrong way.
As the ringing in his ears subsided and the sounds of battle slowly returned, Picket realized he was wounded, bleeding in several places. But his mind had cleared by the time they reached Helmer. Along with Heyward and a band of soldiers, Helmer was working furiously to reload the third catapult. Archers stood nearby, firing in disciplined squads, holding off the circling raptors.
“Thanks for that!” Picket shouted at Helmer.
“That was Heyward!” Helmer shouted back. Heyward saluted, then resumed his work cranking down the catapult arm. When it was ready and had been carefully aimed by Heyward, Helmer shouted, “Fire!” The barrel was lit and sent aloft as the arm came forward in a shattering crack. The giant wooden arm sent its cargo into the sky to burst in a terrific blaze. But the arm came apart in a rending split that sheared it in half.
“It’s useless, sir!” Heyward cried, quickly examining the broken arm. “No possibility of fixing it here.”
“That leaves us with two,” Helmer said, shaking his head.
“Where’s Bleston?” Picket shouted, glancing to the ridge above. “He’s supposed to be here by now! What’s happened to the plan?”
Helmer turned to Picket. “Can’t you see? Bleston’s not coming.”
Picket turned toward the empty ridge. Bleston was supposed to bring his force in on the flank, slamming into the unsuspecting enemy army. His large force would have given the rabbits at least some chance. And they had hoped for reinforcements from Cloud Mountain and more catapult support from above.
But no one was going to help them. They were trapped, alone, driven against the rocks.
“The outlet?” Heyward asked, frowning. There was a small escape point between the forest and the mountain, a last avenue of retreat in case the worst happened.
“We just got a runner back,” Helmer said, shaking his head. “The pass is blocked by wolves. We’re trapped. We wanted them to think we were, and, thanks to Bleston’s treachery, we are.”
“Betrayed,” Picket said. “We are betrayed.”
Chapter Forty-Three
BLOOD AND PEACE
Heather reeled. The tenth window lay scattered in shards at her feet. The beautiful vision of Smalls and the Mended Wood was shattered. She glowered at Bleston, who nocked another arrow and raised it.
Bleston smiled. Others came to stand beside him. Several of his Terralain guards were there, swords drawn, and last of all came Perkinson.
Perkinson? For a moment she was confused.
“Come with us, Emma,” Bleston said.
“What is happening?” Heather asked.
Bleston said nothing, only motioned for Emma to come.
“You know who I am, and I stand in Kyle’s way,” Emma said. Heather wasn’t sure how Emma felt, but her own heart was racing, and a hot anger grew within her.
“You liar!” Heather screamed, stepping in front of Emma. “You’re a coward, Bleston Turncoat!”
She realized now that Bleston had never meant to swear fealty to Smalls, that everything he had done was a ruse to betray them. The weight of the betrayal came crashing down on her. Bleston was here, so he wasn’t on the battlefield. That meant Picket and the army were stranded. Exposed. Hopeless. Bleston had planned their destruction. When they found Uncle Wilfred, Perkinson had learned about Smalls’ death, and about Emma. And since he was clearly an agent for Bleston, he had reported to his master as soon as he could.
Emma was calculating as well. “All you have to do is get rid of me, and the throne is yours.”
Bleston smiled. “Come with me, Emma.”
“So the Silver Prince has stooped to this?” Heather spat.
“I will be remembered with honor,” Bleston said, his face growing grave, “like all my honored ancestors.”
“You are more dragon king than true heir to King Whitson. You will make yourself remembered, yes. They will call you the Sliver Prince.”
“I’ll take Emma either way,” Bleston said, his eyes flashing. “But you have a choice to live or die.”
“Perk,” Heather said, “are you going to stand there while they kill her?”
“I’m not going to kill her,” Bleston said.
“Of course, we can trust you,” Heather said.
“I’m going to hand her over,” he answered, “and Morbin will decide her fate.”
Emma didn’t move. Heather stood in front of her. “So you’ve done it again,” Heather said. “You’ve spat on your father’s grave and betrayed the true heir again.”
“Come with us, Emma,” Bleston said, his voice hardening, “and we’ll let Heather go. If you don’t, she dies now.”
“Never!” Heather spat. “Where she goes, I go.”
“Heather, don’t make this any harder,” Perkinson said.
“You vile scum of rabbitkind,” Heather said. “Your father would be ashamed of you. Perkin One-Eye was King Jupiter’s best friend. Now his son has betrayed Jupiter’s heir. How far back does your duplicity go?”
“He was Bleston’s agent,” Emma said, “must have been, even before he came to us at Halfwind.”
“I have served King Bleston for many years,” Perkinson said. “I’m not ashamed of my actions.”
“And that’s all we need to know about you,” Heather said. “I should have known that Kyle could never change. I was a fool to trust any of you.”
“Prince Kylen doesn’t know about this. He’s not even—” Perkinson began, but Bleston cut him off.
“That’s enough, Perkinson. You’ve been faithful to me through hard days and you’ve done hard things, but leave this to me.”
A horrible thought struck Heather. “Lord Ramnor!” she shouted, pointing to Perkinson. “You killed him. Before I got there, on the day of the attack. You killed him. He tried to tell me.”
“I did what needed to be done,” Perkinson said.
“Enough!” Bleston cried. “Now, Emma. Please come along,” he said, pulling back his bowstring. “Or does Miss Longtreader have to die here, as her brother will die on the field?”
“No!” Heather cried.
“What choice do we have?” Emma asked.
“This,” Heather said. After a deep breath, she sprinted to the eighth window and leapt into it. The glass shattered as she broke through.
Emma’s eyes widened, but it took her only a fraction of a second to follow. An arrow whizzed past her as she dashed into the shattered space, leaping through on Heather’s heels.
Heather landed, rolling on the ground before finding her feet. She was on a rocky path leading to the mouth of a cave. Emma landed behind her, and the two rabbits dashed ahead.
“This leads to the village green,” Heather shouted, recalling Mrs. Weaver’s revelation of several secret paths. “Just keep running!”
They ran down slick stone walkways until they emerged into the cave tunnel. Heather recognized it as the one leading to the staging platform. She knew that Emma’s only chance for survival was on that plateau.
They reached the end of the passage and emerged, squinting, into daylight. Heather thought it odd that she couldn’t hear anything. If the battle was on, where were the sounds of flying arrows and the noise of Lord Rake’s catapults? At last her eyes adjusted to the light, and what she saw made her gasp. Lord Rake stood with his hands clasped behind his head, an angry scowl on his face. He was surrounded by archers in black with arrows carefully trained on him.
He saw Emma, and his eyes widened. “They said they had you, Emma, that if I lifted a finger to aid the battle, they would kill you. But now—”
“Now,” said a rabbit in a grey hooded cloak, who stepped out from behind the archers. “Now, we do have her.” He motioned for some of the archers to turn their arrows on Emma. “If you lift a finger to help her, or your battered comrades on the field below, we will kill her faster than you can blink.”
Lord Rake cursed. Heather could see he was making terrible calculations in his mind.
“You would kill a defenseless doe?” Heather asked, striding to the hooded figure.
“I would,” he said.
“What are you, a monster?”
“Why,” he said, pushing back his hood to reveal a familiar grey face. “Don’t you recognize me, girl? I’m your uncle. I am Garten Longtreader.”
Heather blinked and stumbled back. This was the rabbit, her father’s brother, who had betrayed King Jupiter to Morbin years before. She was stunned. A torrent of curses and accusations formed on her tongue. But before she could speak them, Bleston, Perkinson, and the rest of their Terralain force came running out of the cave, shielding their eyes.
“Ah,” Bleston said, “we’re all here now.” He pointed at Emma. “Take her!”
His guards, led by Perkinson, ran to obey. Lord Rake fidgeted angrily. A Terralain archer moved forward and drew back his bowstring in warning. Heather stepped between Perkinson and Emma.
“Move or be moved, Heather,” Perk said. “Can’t you see that it’s over?”
“I never will.”
Heather stood her ground. Perkinson studied her a moment, then lashed out with his fist, striking her hard across the jaw. The blow sent Heather toppling to the ground. She shook her head and levered up on an elbow, blinking away tears. She heard Emma scream, saw her run at Perkinson. Emma struck out at him, but he roughly subdued her in seconds.
“Easy with my prize,” Garten Longtreader said, eying Perkinson.
Heather’s jaw throbbed, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She spat and rose, glowering at the collection of traitors, while Perkinson tied Emma’s hands behind her back.
“You will never live down this shame, Bleston,” Lord Rake said, spitting.
“But he will have a throne from which to enjoy it,” Garten Longtreader said. He strolled over to take charge of Emma. “And he’ll have a treaty with Lord Morbin that no war could ever hope to achieve.”
“You’re assuming we would lose,” Heather said, subtly studying the plateau. Lord Rake’s archers knelt nearby, their hands clasped behind their heads, their bows and arrows heaped in piles. The catapult crews were seated on the ground, and all were guarded by a handful of Terralain soldiers. They must have the majority of their force still out on the mountain ridge, and these few snuck in through a secret passage. No doubt they’d been led in by Perkinson.
The Terralain soldiers had their bows trained on the Cloud Mountain captains, Lord Rake, and Emma. Heather herself was so unimportant to them that she didn’t even warrant a guard.
Garten laughed. “Of course you would lose! You’re losing right now. Less than a mile from where we stand, your pitiful forces are being crushed.”
“Because of this villainous treachery,” Emma said. “Which is ever Morbin’s way.”
“History may tell a different tale,” Garten said, rubbing his chin beneath a smirking smile. “As ever, it is written by the victors.”
“We will have peace,” Bleston said.
“What kind of peace? And at what price?” Lord Rake growled.
“A tolerably good peace, I think. And it comes fairly cheap,” Bleston said, glancing at Emma. “It will only cost us the last drops of Jupiter’s blood.”
Chapter Forty-Four
THE LAST, DESPERATE THROW
Picket felt as if he were standing in a burning building, unable to move while the ceiling crashed down on him and his helpless companions. The Lords of Prey were having their way in the battle. In very little time they would shred the rabbit army to tatters. The wolves were in full fury, fighting like the mad beasts they were, tearing through the ranks of rabbits with gleeful ease.
“If we could only get to the platform on Cloud Mountain,” Helmer said, “we could find out why they aren’t firing their catapults!”
“If we could pin back the blasted birds for a bit,” Captain Frye shouted, “we might get our army through the wolf lines and retreat up toward the ridges!” He had just joined a last-ditch council along the rocky edge of Rockback Valley, where the brave battered rabbits were making a final desperate stand in front of the last working catapult.
Another barrel launched, exploding in a bright burst above the desperate rabbits. Picket looked at the creaking catapult and frowned.
“How many more can she fire, Heyward?” Helmer asked.
“Not more than two, sir! Probably just one.”
“Let’s make it a good one,” Helmer called. He ordered the engineers to load one last keg and crank down the arm. The braided ropes groaned as they took on the tension, and the wood seemed certain to crack and shatter, just as the others had.
“What’s the best strategy here, Frye?” Helmer asked, gazing out at the ominous scene.
“It’s time, I’m afraid,” Captain Frye said, “to hurt them all we can before we fall.”
Picket didn’t need to hear those words to know it was true. He could see the end approaching. “We need to buy as much time as we can to lessen the pressure on Cloud Mountain,” he said. “Maybe Emma can escape.” And please, Heather too.
“Let’s go down with that hope in our hearts!” Captain Frye said, looking each rabbit in the eye. “It’s an honor to die alongside you.”
They turned then, Captains Helmer and Frye, Picket Longtreader, Jo Shanks, and Cole Blackstar. Unsheathing swords, faces like thunder, they raised their arms and called out, “My place beside you! My blood for yours!”
And all the rabbits fighting desperately at the base of Cloud Mountain shouted together, “Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!”
Picket’s heart raced, and, taking a deep breath, he set himself to burst onto the nearest enemy.
“Picket, wait!” Heyward shouted. “Come with me, please.”
Grabbing Picket’s arm, he led him to a baggage cart behind the catapult. “Put this on!” Heyward bent, unrolling a long durable cape inset with several rods. A thick long rod like a quarterstaff lay along the spine, buckled onto the cape with metal clamps. Picket was intrigued
, but he glanced back eagerly at the doomed charge of his fellows.
“What is this, Heyward?” he asked as Heyward unfastened his back-scabbard and handed it to Picket. Then the blue-robed rabbit connected a sturdy belt around his waist, pressing the large rod uncomfortably into the middle of his back.
“It’s our last chance.”
A minute later, Picket was wearing the strange cape contraption. His sword was sheathed at his side now, and his mind was bursting with confusion and wonder, but he listened to Heyward’s harried directions, climbed the catapult, and settled into the net. Arrows whizzed past him, and everywhere the desperate struggle raged on.
“Remember,” Heyward called, “arms straight out to engage! Twist inside to lock the rods! Twist out to disengage! Are you ready?”
“No!”
There was a sudden ear-splitting shriek. Heyward drew his sword and, glancing at the hawk descending on them, sliced down on the rope that held the strained wooden arm back. Picket’s eyes widened. The rope parted, and the giant catapult arm sprang forward, shattering as it sent Picket sailing into the sky.
Chapter Forty-Five
PICKET’S FLIGHT
Picket was flying, actually flying, now.
Arms at his sides, he sped like an arrow past the attacking hawk and into the bright blue heaven. His heart raced, terror giving way to exhilaration.
He flew up and up, through a sky littered with birds, speeding past several by a narrow margin. Looking down, he saw the battle scene shrinking beneath him. He gritted his teeth and looked ahead.
An imperious eagle. Blade naked, glinting in the sunlight. Dead ahead.
The razor-beaked raptor beat his wings, arcing to align with the path of the soaring rabbit’s flight. Picket panicked, tried to swerve, but sped on, arms flailing. He gripped the handles on the edges of his cape, trying desperately to recall Heyward’s hurried instructions. Then, shooting his arms out wide, he twisted his straining wrists inward.
He heard the rattling lock of linked shafts across his spine and arms, and the soft draped cape suddenly became rigid. Picket noticed the abrupt change in his position. Wind filled the flapping fabric, which arced taut in the new tension.
