by S D Smith
Picket rose. Then, turning, he dipped and spun a moment until he regained his balance to ride an uneasy current of air. It took all his concentration to stay on top of the whipping wind. At every moment, it threatened to unsettle the delicate balance of his wings.
He and all his ancestors had been land-bound rabbits. And now he was flying. The cape had become a glider. Picket’s new flight path had swept him away from the eagle. He smiled, a steady confidence growing within.
A sudden screech and whoosh derailed his exultant thoughts, sending him into a desperate effort to escape. The great bird appeared on his right, bending toward him with a practiced grace. The eagle shrieked again, swinging his slicing sword to cut him down and send Picket crashing back to earth.
Picket tried to bank, raising his right arm to ride the rising wind, but the raptor simply matched his movement with more ease, inching ever closer. He glanced at his sword, snugly fit in the sheath at his side. But his arms were locked. How could he bring his blade to bear on this agile attacker?
The eagle banked again, dreadfully close, and swung his long sword in a sweeping slash. Desperate, Picket twisted his wrists out, disengaging the linking rods, and reached for his sword as the glider’s wings luffed limply in the wind. His sword came out like a spring, ripped from its sheath in a desperate snatch, and he blocked the eagle’s flashing blade. The stroke rattled his wrists, sending a numb shock thundering up his arms. With his cape-glider disengaged, he fell like a stone.
The eagle shrieked and beat his wings, dropping in a sudden attack.
Snatching desperate glances up at the bird, Picket clung to his blade. Somehow, he sent out his arms again, blade now firm in his right hand. He twisted his wrists, the rods came rigid, and he felt the tightening brace of Heyward’s mad contraption.
The cloth wings came taut, catching Picket in a swift rise. He swooped up toward the diving bird. The eagle had been intent on reaching a falling rabbit. He adjusted quickly to Picket’s sudden upward surge.
But not quickly enough.
As the eagle drew back his long blade, Picket soared in, banking briefly to bring his own blade into his enemy’s heart.
The collision rattled Picket’s bones, and he was knocked back by the dying bird’s last swipe. The eagle dropped as Picket fell into a flipping spin. He lost his grip on his sword hilt. Spinning wildly in midair, he saw his treasured sword falling fast. The wind beat his body. He felt himself growing dizzy.
Then he saw something below in a sudden break of the fog. He wasn’t sure if it was an evil dream or a cruel trick of the sweeping mist.
Chapter Forty-Six
TO THE EDGE AND OVER
Heather heard a swishing noise and looked up, alarmed. The fog came in white clumps, just now thick again. An enormous eagle broke through the sweeping mist. Falling, not flying.
Like thunder, the bird’s body slammed into the edge of the platform, bursting bricks from mortar. It bounced from the low-walled edge to tumble into the rocky ravine below. There was a long fall in silence before its rough landing echoed in their ears.
This unsettled the scene on the plateau, drawing everyone’s attention to the bird. Several rabbits ran to the edge to watch him plunge. Heather took a chance and rushed at Perkinson, lashing out with her feet in a kick that sent him sprawling. He dropped his sword as he tumbled back.
It fell at Lord Rake’s feet. He took it up and swung down hard on the steel helm of the nearest Terralain guard. Bleston turned in time to see Emma’s bonds being cut. Cursing and barking orders, he rallied his rabbits to regain control. He pointed to Emma. “Kill her!” he shouted. Then he raised his own blade and charged toward Heather.
His lieutenant turned to Emma and raised his bow, releasing a driving dart.
Many things happened at once. Lord Rake leapt through the air, placing his body between the arrow and Emma. It caught him square in the chest, and he crashed to the ground.
Emma screamed, rushing to Lord Rake’s side as Heather raced to the scene. She meant to help Lord Rake, but Bleston and several of his soldiers were closing on Emma, their swords poised as they charged. Heather saw Bleston, face full of fury, the Whitson Stone bouncing beneath his chin, as the old warrior came for the princess. He was attacking his own flesh and blood, his own niece, with murder in his eyes.
Emma rose, bravely facing the assault, then flinched back as a speeding blade fell from the sky above. A sword broke the bank of fog to crash onto the stones. There was a rattling clank as something came apart, though the blade remained intact.
Heather gazed in amazement as a brilliant emerald gem on a strong slender chain rebounded into the air between Bleston and Emma.
The Green Ember.
Bleston stopped, wide-eyed, and snatched the emerald out of the air. Almost laughing, he pocketed the gem and turned back to Emma.
“Now, Princess, you die!”
Before Heather could act, something arced from the sky and smashed into Bleston. He rolled over the ground, entangled with his attacker, to the broken edge of the plateau, where they crashed and rolled apart.
Heather’s mouth fell open. “Picket!” She ran to help him up.
Bleston rose slowly, turning on Picket with a fierce shout.
“Longtreader!”
Bleston was breathing hard as one of his soldiers handed him a sword. He pointed it at Picket with unguarded rage on his face. He was sweating, his fur matted and his eyes wild. The calm, composed, commanding Silver Prince was gone. He unleashed a near-lupine growl, then ran.
Picket stood firm on the plateau edge and pushed Heather away.
Emma took up Picket’s sword and heaved it toward him. Picket reached for it.
But it was too late.
Bleston was on him. The older rabbit made to drive for Picket’s middle, but when Picket swiveled to avoid it, Bleston brought his blade down in the two-handed hammering slice he had always intended.
It was a move Helmer often used. It would have taken Picket’s head off. But he saw it just in time.
Picket dipped back, staggered, but kept his feet as the death stroke grazed his chest, sparking on his breastplate. Bleston’s momentum, only barely checked from his charging run, carried him forward, past Picket. He tripped on the shattered edge of the wall, snatching at Picket’s cape as he plummeted over the edge.
Heather watched in horror as Picket was dragged over with him.
Chapter Forty-Seven
TRAITORS’ DAY
Heather screamed. She and Emma leapt onto the low wall. They gazed below in terror but were arrested by a shout from behind. They turned to see Perkinson, sword drawn, a fierce scowl on his face.
“Surrender, Emma,” he said. “I’ll kill her!” he shouted as the Cloud Mountain company became aware of this fresh peril. They had regained the plateau from Bleston’s fewer rabbits. “The first arrow I see nocked, I do the worst,” he said, inching closer to Emma with his blade. There were still a few yards between them, but Heather, who was directly behind Emma, knew how quickly Perk could close that distance.
“Wait!” Heather cried, waving off the gathering soldiers. “He’ll do it. He’ll do it. He’s a monster, and he won’t hesitate. Stay back!” They heeded her warning, backing off and lowering their bows.
“Perkinson, please. My father, the one who has always cared for me,” Emma said, tears starting in her eyes, “is lying over there, dying. Your master, Bleston, is dead, and Picket—your fellow Fowler and my dear friend—with him. What could you possibly want now?”
“I want to make the trade,” he said. Then louder, “I still want to make the treaty, Garten!”
As if summoned by these words, Garten Longtreader approached. The grey rabbit had been slowly withdrawing as the spectacle unfolded. But now he reemerged, smiling as he came. “The treaty still stands and can fall to Prince Kylen in his father’s stead.”
“Then we are agreed?” Perkinson asked.
“Yes,” Garten said. “But I’d rath
er have her alive, if possible.”
Perkinson pointed his sword at Emma, stepped closer. “I don’t know how we can do that, Ambassador Longtreader.”
“It’s quite simple, really,” Garten said, reaching into his robes to draw out a small wooden whistle. “I blow this, and my carrier comes. If I don’t blow this or am not returned well and safe within the hour, then the enormous reserve force will level this place—all of Cloud Mountain—without a drop of mercy.”
“So your safety is guaranteed no matter what,” Perkinson said, scowling. “But mine isn’t. I will die up here, and I’d like to take her with me!”
Just then, a rabbit glided up out of the ravine, sweeping over the ledge. He rose in an artful arc, flipping smoothly backward before landing on the rock between Emma and Perkinson. Picket landed cleanly, crouching with one hand on the ground, head down, his cape draped around him. He looked up and slowly raised a sword.
Perkinson started back, gasping. Then he cried out in fury and frustration. He aimed a thunderous overhead stroke at Picket, but it was firmly, almost casually, deflected. Heather’s eyes widened as she gazed at her brother. He was so sure of himself, so bold. Picket strode forward along the narrow top of the stone wall. He knocked aside another swiping slice from Perk, then three more strokes in rapid succession. Each were blocked with a furious calm, the last exposing Perkinson’s middle. Picket went for it, his face grim as he sent his enemy—his former friend—over the edge.
Chapter Forty-Eight
A DEADLY DEAL
Picket turned, searching in fury for other enemies to be dealt with. The Cloud Mountain captains now had the remnant of Bleston’s soldiers under guard, but many pointed at the lone free enemy. The robed rabbit.
“Who are you?” Picket asked.
“I’m your uncle,” he said. “I’m Garten Longtreader.”
“Of course you are,” Picket said, spitting as he strode forward, brandishing his weapon—the sword he had wrested from Bleston as they fell. He had seen his uncle once before, at Jupiter’s Crossing when the gray rabbit left Smalls for dead.
“Princess Emma,” Garten said, lifting the whistle near his lips. “May I have a quiet word?”
“Picket,” Emma called. “Hold on, please.”
Picket turned, perplexed by her command. “Your Highness?”
“I will speak to this rabbit,” she said. “But first I must see to Lord Rake.” Picket watched as Emma and Heather ran to the fallen rabbit. How did this happen? He can’t be...
Emma knelt beside Lord Rake as Heather reached for his wrist, waited, and shook her head. Emma’s head dropped, and she began to weep. But with a quick breath, she settled herself. She rose and walked to where Picket hovered near the traitor, his sword extended.
Picket saw she was working hard to master her grief. She looked at Picket. “Thank you, my friend, for what you’ve done today. But I must speak with this rabbit a moment.”
Picket frowned.
“I am unarmed,” Garten said, pulling back his robes to prove he had no sword or knife. He raised the whistle again. “This is my only weapon.”
“I need a few minutes,” Emma said.
Picket bowed and backed away, uneasy. He went to pick up his own sword, casting Bleston’s aside in disgust. Then he saw something else on the ground.
An emerald gem on a golden chain. He picked it up.
Heather came and took his arm, laying her head on his shoulder. Picket fought back tears. It had all happened so fast. Perkinson! His heart ached. Before that the fall, the fight with Bleston. Bleston carrying him over the edge. His horrid mid-fall tussle with Bleston, until he finally broke free with his enemy’s sword, engaging his cape-glider at the last moment. As the rods clicked in place, so did his mind. He finally understood how the invention worked. Heyward was a genius to design such a thing.
When Heyward’s face came into his mind, he jumped suddenly forward, alarming Heather.
“The catapults!” he cried, racing to the stunned captains who had watched the drama unfold. “Send everything you’ve got! Now! Our fighters are backed up against the far edge of Rockback Valley, and they desperately need relief!”
“Shall we send a company to reinforce, Lieutenant?” one of the catapult captains asked.
“Yes!” Picket cried. “Send whoever can be spared. Our forces are pinned against the rock wall. Light up the sky!” he shouted at the soldiers cranking down the arms. “And, archers! Move down the mountain where you can get a clean shot at them!”
Runners were dispatched, and nearly all the attendant archers were sent through the tunnels down to the field.
Would they arrive in time? Picket hoped so. The catapults leapt forward, sending their blastpowder kegs aloft. Explosions followed as the shattered barrels broke open the sky. Orange and red tongues of fire stretched across the horizon as the fog mixed with a sudden rising smoke.
Seeing he could do little to help the catapult crews, he returned to stand beside Heather. Emma emerged from her short conference with their uncle.
The old rabbit—bearing such a woeful resemblance to their father and Uncle Wilfred—smiled as they walked near.
“He is to be allowed to leave,” Emma said, a stern sadness in her eyes.
“Your Highness?” Picket asked, aghast. “Hasn’t he orchestrated this betrayal, along with Bleston and Perk?”
“He is to be allowed to go,” she repeated. “Let Garten Longtreader go to the seventh standing stone.”
“But Emma,” Heather whispered, “we don’t understand.”
A grumbling arose among the captains and lieutenants. “Your Highness,” the archer captain said. “They’ve killed our Lord Rake. How can you let him go?”
“Am I the heir of King Jupiter?” Emma asked, her voice even, her fists clenched, and her back straight. “Do I command here, or not?”
Heads down, they made no reply.
“You are and you do, Your Highness,” Picket said. He looked around, as if challenging any of them to object. He knelt wearily on one knee. “What you command, we will do.”
The other soldiers followed Picket’s example, kneeling before Emma. Heather knelt beside her friend, her brow knit in concern.
With a flick of his chin, Picket motioned for his uncle to move on. The grey rabbit blew his whistle, then smiled and bowed briefly. He turned to Emma, extending his hand. “So we have an agreement, Princess?”
“We do,” she said, shaking Garten’s hand and then stuffing her fists into her pockets.
Garten nodded, then made his way along the wall’s edge until he came to the standing stones. He ran up the winding stone steps that wrapped around the last, and looking around proudly as if he’d won a great victory, he laughed. In a few moments a bird swooped down from above the seven standing stones. Beating his wings, he hovered beside him. Garten leapt onto his back-saddle and flew into the sky, away from the blasts of the catapults and the tumult of battle.
“Now what?” Heather asked.
Emma sighed. “The force attacking our soldiers below is only half of Morbin’s army. If Garten had not been allowed to leave, the rest would have attacked here.”
“Why won’t they now?” Picket asked.
“They had a deal with Bleston,” Emma said, looking into the distance. “Now Garten says he will return to Morbin and see if the treaty they made can be extended.”
“We cannot make a treaty with Morbin,” Heather said, horror creeping into her expression.
“No,” Emma said, “but we need to survive the next twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t understand,” Picket said, rubbing his head.
“You don’t need to understand,” Emma answered, looking around. “We have work to do. Heather and I need to help with the wounded, and you, Picket,” she said, motioning to the active rabbits all around the plateau, “must take Lord Rake’s place and command Cloud Mountain’s forces.”
“Surely Captain Pacer is better suited,” Picket began.
“No one can find Pacer,” she answered.
“But, Your Highness,” he came closer. “Emma, I’m only a lieutenant.”
“You’re a captain now, Shuffler,” she said wearily. “You flew through the air, Picket. Actually flew. All these soldiers saw it. You fought the Silver Prince and came out on top—same with Perkinson. I think you can handle this.”
“I will do my best, Your Highness,” he said, falling to one knee.
Emma reached out and touched his head gently, then turned and hurried toward the caves, with Heather running beside her.
Chapter Forty-Nine
A PLEDGE
Picket’s body was exhausted, but his mind came alive as he focused all his intelligence on serving Emma as she had asked. He organized the scattered captains, assigned new duties based on the changing circumstances of the battle, and sent every kind of reinforcement possible to relieve the desperate soldiers on the field below. This left Cloud Mountain badly exposed to the second half of Morbin’s army, encamped on the other side of the mountain. But there was nothing else to be done.
Somehow Emma trusted Garten Longtreader to deliver a temporary peace, and Picket fought back a chorus of objections as he went about his work. His present concerns were enough to keep him occupied. The rest would have to wait. He had to trust the princess. He had to trust his friend.
The tide had turned in the Battle of Rockback Valley. The catapult bombardment from above, along with the fresh rabbits pouring into the valley from the heights of Cloud Mountain, meant the bedraggled rabbits could last the day. Though hundreds fell in the battle, many more survived, and by the dying light they made their weary way into the stronghold of Cloud Mountain.
“I’m ever so glad to see you, son,” Helmer said, clasping Picket in an embrace. Helmer looked awful, wounded and limping, but he was smiling. “I’m told that you organized the reinforcements—that you saved us.”
