Servant of the King (The Fledgling Account Book 3)

by Y. K. Willemse

  There was a silence in which Roger waited for Rafen to move to the river’s edge, and Rafen waited for Roger to move back down the corridor. Eventually, Roger turned and strode away, looking over his shoulder numerous times. Rafen meandered over to the river’s rocky edge. The water flowed in a glittering belt through the tunnel of hollowed-out rock. Rafen had often come here, not to relieve himself, but to watch the little fish darting through the water. He had wished he were one of them, darting away through the secret chinks in stones until at last he burst into the light and free outdoors. The fish had vanished in the past three weeks. Perhaps they had migrated somewhere.

  Rafen sank down on the rocks, wondering how in the world he, Francisco, and Sherwin could escape Fritz’s Hideout tonight.

  Footsteps sounded behind him and Rafen glanced up. In the pale light that came from further up the tunnel through which the river flowed, Wynne looked taller than normal, and insubstantial. Her face hardened as she looked at him.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” she said.

  Rafen said nothing.

  “Ay, but that’s all right, Rafen,” she said. “Go your ways. But I want you to remember who killed my father.”

  “Talmon,” Rafen said automatically.

  “No, not him,” Wynne said. It was the old argument, and it ate away at him.

  “Wynne, when will you stop this nonsense?” Rafen spat. “I loved your fath—”

  “Never,” Wynne said emphatically, “as I loved him, Wolf.”

  “Wynne, I’ve heard enough of this,” Rafen said much too loudly, rising.

  “You took him away from me. You turned his head so that he saw only you, and he would rather keep you sane than keep me safe,” she said. She spoke fast, precisely, without the normal tears. “You thought you could save him – ay, you, you stupid little boy – and after the Lashki killed him, you rushed in and Talmon burned my father’s corpse to cinders, so I never had him back. And then you suppose a scrap of cloth can make up for it!”

  She stood before Rafen now, her head so close to his that she could have bitten him.

  “So, Rafen, Wolf,” she said softly, “go your ways, but remember this: one day you will hurt the way I did.”

  “The day I knew of your father’s death—” Rafen hissed.

  “Your pain has only just begun.”

  She whirled around, the pale pink dress whipping the air. As lightly as a goat, she tripped across the rocks and vanished into the darkness of the corridor.

  Rafen took a deep breath, but once more, every voice in his head roared accusations at him. He kneeled on a rock at the river’s edge, remembering Wynne’s arms wrapping themselves around Erasmus’ neck as she begged him to leave Rafen, leave the Wolf alone. Erasmus’ green eyes, with the patterns of cracked glass in them, focused only on Rafen. He had said quietly: “I will always help Zion’s Fledgling.”

  And he had died for it. Now the only solution, the only panacea, was to escape from here and fight back.

  “Zion, get us out of this place,” Rafen whispered. He leapt up again. He would go back for Sherwin and Francisco, and get them out somehow.

  Movement behind gave him a start. He turned around, snapped a flame to life in his hand, and faced Sherwin, who was a few rocks behind him.

  “’ey, Raf,” he said softly, “Franny got out while Roger was gone. Elizabeth let him.”

  “Where is he?” Rafen said quickly, his hand moving to his phoenix feather as if this would somehow help.

  “Er, talkin’ with Etana.”

  Rafen’s shoulders sagged.

  Two shadows moved into the halo of light from the flame still in his hand and became Francisco and Etana. Etana’s dark red hair, streaked with honeyed gold, was disheveled, and her pointy face white. She clenched her jaw, disfiguring her normally perfect, sculptured appearance. Despite their confinement underground, she had managed to grow over the past little while. She was rapidly approaching Rafen’s height, and Rafen was worried she was going to overtake him. Now she reared her ivory neck and stared at him with flashing blue eyes.

  “You can’t leave like this,” she said much too loudly. “Robert and Kasper will be ready in a few—”

  “Shhh,” Sherwin and Francisco said.

  Francisco gestured apologetically to Rafen. “She followed me, my brother. I did not see her.”

  “Etana, you can come with us or leave us alone,” Rafen said sharply.

  “Robert and Kasper will be forever,” Sherwin said. “We don’ have time. Annette could appear any day.”

  Etana turned an imploring gaze on Rafen. “Robert and Kasper need you,” she said. “You know the Woods. And you are the Fledgling besides…”

  Rafen gave a long sigh.

  “Don’ give in, Raf,” Sherwin said.

  “I’m not.”

  “I want them to come with us,” Etana said, her lashes glittering with tears.

  Rafen ground his teeth. “Come on, Sherwin and Franny.”

  Though he wanted to say goodbye to King Robert, his two sons, and Elizabeth in particular, Rafen knew that would be impossible. Besides, he would see them all again, probably once he had found Alexander. He picked his way across the rocks toward another opening in the wall, knowing this led to the corridor where Sherwin had discovered him that morning.

  Sherwin followed, clinking a little. Carrying out Rafen’s earlier instructions, he had found them weapons and spare clothes. They had no food; Rafen had promised he would find some.

  Even though Sherwin and Francisco couldn’t hear it, Rafen’s wolf senses picked up Etana’s footsteps, soft because of her kesmal.

  He whirled around savagely, and Sherwin jumped in fright.

  “Are you following us or giving us away?” Rafen hissed into the darkness.

  “’ey—” Sherwin protested, but Etana’s voice sounded behind him.

  “I’m coming,” she said. “I hope you have woman’s clothes in there.”

  “Er,” Sherwin said.

  *

  In the little glade, Etana’s face was a pale beacon. She shivered.

  “Cold?” Sherwin said. The spring night was rather chilly.

  “Shut up,” Etana spat. “Anyone could be out here – philosophers – Tarhians—” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she looked accusingly at Rafen.

  “What did I do?” Rafen said softly, receiving his sword – or Erasmus’ old sword – from Sherwin. King Robert had insisted it be stowed safely in the armory of Fritz’s Hideout.

  “You,” Etana said fiercely, “are the one the Lashki hates. Perhaps he hates you even more than my family.”

  She removed her silver ring from her finger and molded it into the scepter she battled with. Francisco accepted a long, thin knife from Sherwin. He handled it delicately, as if it were an overlarge utensil. Francisco was used to fighting with a pistol. Talmon, who was a deadly shot, had trained him.

  “We’ll be all right,” Rafen told her. “Have faith in Zion.”

  He looked up through the stirring leaves above the glade, and knew that the Phoenix Zion’s eyes were on them. Rafen laid a hand on the feather concealed in the button hem above his heart. All four of them had survived terrible ordeals before this; they would survive again.

  “We’re going to go to Smitton first,” he told Etana. “To the tavern, to get information.”

  Etana gasped. “Rafen, I have never been in – not in all my life—”

  “Shh,” Rafen said.

  “Tongues are freest in taverns,” Francisco said. “Talmon would always go to taverns when he wanted information.”

  Etana folded her arms, disconsolate.

  Glancing at the boxelders around them, Rafen picked a direction. He started straight ahead, gently parting the branches of holly. Sherwin and Francisco followed with Etana, who looked dubious.

  Beyond the glade, the chapman and laurel oaks grew closer. Rafen was conscious that they were deep in the Woods. Encountering a small dragon, the fl
esh-eating oxalum, or a changeling was likely. As he walked forward, avoiding stepping on twigs and leaves, he smelled the scent of men, and heard the sound of breathing…

  Crack.

  Rafen turned his head slightly, mouthing an oath at Sherwin, who had one foot on a broken twig and the other poised in the air. Etana’s eyes widened with terror.

  After a small pause, the breathing nearby resumed, quieter than before. Rafen moved ahead noiselessly. Eight hours’ travel like this would definitely be suicide for his nerves.

  Ten minutes passed. Every time they moved through a tree’s branches, Rafen’s heart stopped briefly. While Etana was perfectly quiet, Sherwin and Francisco were often unwittingly loud as they released the branches they pulled out of the way.

  Behind Rafen, Francisco’s fall was accompanied by a tremendous crunching of twigs and leaves. Everyone froze. Rafen bit his tongue. Something rustled in the trees to his left.

  Etana stuffed a hand into her mouth.

  “Run!” Sherwin shouted.

  Rafen expanded with exasperation. If they had kept walking silently as before, they would have been fine. However, Sherwin’s cry had reached other ears.

  A face framed by long, knotted hair appeared in the leaves to their left. Someone yelled something incoherent, and orange light filled the air. Rafen was vaguely aware of flinging up a fiery shield to the left of himself and the others. The orange tidal wave hit it, and the bang made his head spin. He clutched his ears. Etana screamed.

  “Come on!” Rafen yelled, pulling her arm.

  Francisco was back on his feet, and he and Sherwin pounded after Rafen and Etana.

  The Woods were alive. Through leaves on either side of them, Rafen glimpsed running forms: Tarhians and long-robed Ashurites. A burst of smoke and sparks was a bullet that had barely missed his ear. More kesmal exploded in the air. Etana had erected a shield to save them as they ran. Something appeared in their path – an ape? But it had talons, an elongated skull, and long thighs for pouncing. Beneath black hair, its skin was a dark, ugly blue. The mouth opened wide, showing blackened teeth, and the creature sprang forward.

  Chapter Four

  Escaping

  the Woods

  Etana screamed again as Rafen whipped his sword clean of its sheath, the creature nearly on him. He stumbled backward into Sherwin, slashing wildly. The body collapsed before him, headless. Francisco was vomiting into a bush. Rafen dragged Etana over the beast’s legs.

  “Francisco, Sherwin, come on!” he yelled hoarsely.

  Another disorientated bang. Rafen ducked, clutching Etana to him – not really to protect her, but to steady himself because the ground was shaking. Sparks fell to the ground and exploded into sheets of silvery flame. Sherwin and Francisco were clear of the body; Rafen and Etana were running ahead, dodging the curtains of weird fire, leaving any sense of direction a million leginis behind.

  Etana swung her thin silver scepter out over her shoulder and aimed at a distant spot behind Sherwin and Francisco. A pale yellow network appeared in the air, fanning out into invisibility.

  After another desperate fifteen minutes, they all sheltered in a hollow mound surrounded by boxelders and bracks. The pursuers had dropped behind, and the Woods were silent again, apart from the chirping of wood thrushes and bluebirds. Rafen released Etana’s hand, but she grabbed his arm and clung on, her grip numbing. Francisco sank down and pulled his knees up to his chin, his forehead shining with sweat. Despite weeks underground with little exercise, Sherwin had retained his fitness; he wasn’t even panting as he looked around at the bracks, his eyes dilated.

  “What did you have to say ‘run’ for?” Rafen hissed to him.

  Sherwin grimaced.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Etana said faintly.

  “What do you mean?” Rafen said.

  “Didn’t you see?” Etana said. “When Francisco fell, he brushed up against something…”

  “Like a wall,” Francisco said.

  “It was a wall of kesmal, and it only becomes visible for a few seconds when you touch it,” Etana said. “There is probably a network of them through the Woods. It means that any travelers get caught, because they cannot see the walls. If they walk through them, the enemy knows exactly where they are.”

  “How?” Rafen said.

  “They’re all positioned along the walls, aren’t they?” Sherwin said softly.

  “They wait to feel the tremors,” Etana said.

  “Oh,” Rafen said. He looked at Sherwin. “Sorry.”

  “Nah, it’s all right,” Sherwin whispered. “I was stupid.”

  “I did some kesmal that reached several walls,” Etana said. “When it disturbed them, the vibrations confused the people chasing us.”

  “People, for want of a better word,” Sherwin said. “What was tha’ thing?”

  “Don’t,” Francisco said forcefully.

  “Naztwai,” Etana said. “I’ve read about them in books. My grandfather fought many of them in battle.”

  “Gross,” Sherwin said.

  “We have to keep going,” Rafen said. He lowered his sword, which gleamed with luminous yellow blood, and rubbed it on the grass furiously.

  Sherwin passed around the water pouches, and they drank.

  *

  Incredibly, the next seven hours passed without event, though they shattered all of their nerves. Everyone moved slowly, and as softly as possible. Occasionally, Rafen smelled or heard someone nearby, and they all ducked down and crawled through the shrubbery for a while, keeping to a straight line a good way from their enemy. Rafen knew now that a sentinel marked a kesmalic wall they mustn’t brush against.

  Once, Bambi had crossed the mossy path before them, looking imploringly at Etana and reaching for her. When Rafen had frozen in disbelief, Etana whispered shakily in his ear, “A changeling, because she is mute.”

  They waited until the changeling left. Etana told them that if they had touched it, it might have transported them somewhere else in the Woods, or worse, bound them with cobwebby kesmal and lived off their blood. It was good Etana had been with them, because Rafen had forgotten his education regarding changelings and would have certainly continued otherwise. He remembered Bambi delightedly skipping around him and kissing his ear, begging him to play checkers. Her absence was one of the reasons why the Hideout was so grim. Vague disquiet seized Rafen every time he was forced to believe that someone who had been so alive, the paragon of life, was dead.

  They journeyed nonstop until Sherwin indicated to Rafen that Francisco couldn’t go much farther. Rafen found them an area hemmed in by holly, and they drank together again. Sunlight crept through the oak branches overhead. It was probably the seventh hour of morning.

  “Much farther now?” Sherwin mouthed

  Francisco looked as if he were asleep. His knees were pulled up again, and he cradled his head in his hands.

  “A bit,” Rafen said. “Perhaps another hour…”

  The tree stump at Rafen’s back encouraged him. A woodcutter had been here. It meant they were near the Woods’ edge. Etana pressed right up against him, and he felt her heartbeat.

  A rough tattoo started on a tree nearby, and Etana threw her arms around Rafen’s neck. Sherwin looked warily around.

  “Woodpecker,” Rafen breathed. “Let’s go.”

  Sherwin gave Francisco a gentle shake. Francisco raised his head, looking wan. His limbs shook.

  Helping Etana rise, Rafen sniffed the air again and headed noiselessly into the oaks to their right, taking care not to startle a wild turkey nearby. Another twenty minutes dragged past. Sherwin supported Francisco, who was reduced to stumbling. He had never been very fit.

  “Keep quiet back there,” Etana hissed to both of them.

  Sherwin made a disgruntled face. Francisco was leaning heavily on him.

  “Why doesn’ Raf take ’im?” Sherwin murmured after another slow ten minutes.

  “I already have my leech,” Rafen whispered back.r />
  Etana was clutching his arm again. She gave him a black look, but couldn’t say anything appropriately savage at the volume they were all reduced to.

  Rafen suddenly froze. “Someone nearby,” he mouthed to the others.

  He moved quickly to the right. A vague tingling tickled his fingers, and a line of white flashed between the cedars.

  Etana gasped.

  A gray beam sliced the air. Sherwin threw himself forward, knocking Francisco, Rafen, and Etana down. The kesmal stirred Rafen’s hair as it whistled by. Francisco scrambled to his feet. Tarhian voices shouted.

  Shoving Francisco before him, Rafen started running. Etana was behind him, sending kesmal into what she hoped were other walls nearby. Sherwin thudded after the three of them, ducking Etana’s flashes of light. A Tarhian with a pistol appeared before Rafen and Francisco, leering. Before he could pull the trigger, a hand-sized rock hit him between the eyes, and he fell backward. Sherwin threw another rock into the bushes near him for good measure.

  The heavy footfalls of something between man and beast sounded to their right. Etana shrieked as she ran. Something exploded from the leaves and hit Rafen’s side. He struck the ground heavily, the Naztwai on top of him crushing his legs. A clawed hand, matted with thick black hair, was raised above his chest. Rafen struggled, unable to dislodge the beast or draw his sword.

  Sherwin hurled himself at the Naztwai, hitting its rock-like shoulder uselessly. Making a high-pitched screech like a bat, it swept Sherwin away with one long arm and then raised its hand again. The gleam of a knifepoint appeared beneath the Naztwai’s collarbone. It threw its body forward to free itself. Rafen screamed as the blood-smelling teeth came nearer. Though he was trying to do kesmal, he couldn’t manage it because his left arm was pinned as well, meaning he had to expend more effort simply to get his own flames to reach his fingertips. Sherwin threw himself at the Naztwai again, this time knocking it off Rafen’s back. Still grasping his embedded weapon, Francisco stumbled on the long legs, and the Naztwai rolled onto all fours near him, making to pounce before registering the pain. It gave a shriek like a long whistle and fell stiffly face forward.