by S D Smith
“She is, however,” Garten began delicately, “something of an important figure in their movement. She is called the Scribe of the Cause and has long been a favorite of Jupiter’s son and daughter.”
“She is, is she?” Morbin asked, his voice eerily calm.
“All the more reason to kill her,” Shelt said.
“On the contrary, my lord. She may be a valuable pawn,” Garten offered.
“Maybe we should bury her with that blundering little prince,” Morbin said. “Perhaps they belong in that tomb together.”
Heather squinted against unbidden tears. She didn’t want to show her pain, but her heart broke when he spoke of Smalls.
“What do we do about the princess, lord?” Garten asked. “Emma defied us by sending this rabbit in her place. She has broken our pact and now schemes against you in blatant defiance.”
“She meant to keep your pact,” Heather said, her voice sounding strange in this place, “though I can’t imagine why she trusted you. I prevented her and took her place.”
A silence followed. Morbin stared at her, his head cocked to one side, then the other. “You think yourself heroic?” he asked at last.
“I think myself a simple rabbit,” she said, “loyal to the true heir and contemptuous of all traitors and dictator slavers.”
Morbin laughed, then loosed a long, furious screech. He lurched forward, lashing out with his talon, knocking Heather backward across the floor and into the far wall. A scream filled the hallway.
“Convene my war council!” Morbin growled at Shelt, “I will accept no more excuses. This rabble must be routed!” The beastly bird beat his black wings and swooped out the hangar on the far side of his lair.
Heather rose slowly to her feet, agonizing pain erupting in her side and left leg.
“Ambassador, make preparations for the war council to meet,” Shelt said. “Many will still be in the field, and I have word that General Flox fell in the battle. Find the highest ranking wolf and get him here.”
“Yes, lord. And what are your orders concerning her?” Garten asked, pointing to Heather.
“Lord Morbin said we ought to bury her with Jupiter Smalls, did he not?”
“He said we might,” Garten said, “but we might just as well keep her to use against the heir.”
“Either way, she has no hope,” Shelt said.
“Of course not,” Garten agreed. “There is no hope for her side in this war. I realized that years ago.”
“You chose well,” Shelt said. “Perhaps this rabbit girl will follow her uncle’s example.”
“Never,” Heather said. She would never let them see her surrender, and nothing would ever induce her to turn traitor. But her heart was very low. She was exhausted and in great pain. She was helpless, trapped in the lair of their greatest enemy. She had little reason to hope and every excuse to despair.
Then she heard something. Soft words in the distance. No, not just words. A song.
“The skies once so blue and beautiful,
Are littered with crass, cruel foes.
Their bleak, black wings beat a dreadful beat,
Over sorrowful songs of woes.”
The song rose, and the words rang clearer.
“Who is that?” Shelt shouted. “Is that a slave?”
“I don’t know, Lord Shelt,” Garten said, though Heather could see the fear in his eyes.
“Songs of suffering and cruel murders,
All lament and never a voice,
Raised in grateful gladness to the heights,
Never reason to rejoice.”
“Who is singing?” Shelt cried, screeching a curse. “Find that rabbit and kill her!”
Garten nodded, bowed clumsily, and disappeared through the doorway as Shelt fumed. Heather began to smile, even as tears stood out in her eyes. It was an old, familiar song.
“But, it will not be so in the Mended Wood,
We’ll be free and glad again.
It will not be so in the Mended Wood,
When the heir of Jupiter reigns.
When the heir of Jupiter reigns!”
Heather knew the song, yes. But she knew more than that. She knew exactly who was singing. Her heart flooded with a sudden, surging hope.
The End
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Don’t miss the other books in this series.
The Green Ember
and its prequel,
The Black Star of Kingston
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