Meilin felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the other girl. No doubt, as an emperor’s daughter, Song led a life of formality and quiet obedience. “We’re not just fighters,” she said after swallowing a bite of spiced bun, “and it hasn’t all been exciting adventures.”
“But you have loyal friends at your side,” Princess Song said.
Meilin took a drink of hot green tea. The princess, she realized, was lonely. “If you’re interested in learning to fight, I could teach you while we’re here.”
Princess Song’s cheeks went pink. “I am afraid … it would not be permitted.” There was a rush of footsteps outside in the hallway. “But I thank you,” she added quickly, and rose gracefully to her feet. “It must be time for the meeting.”
Grabbing a spiced bun for each of her friends, Meilin stood, just as the door opened. Two black-clad Oathbound stepped into the room, followed by a big man who could only be the emperor.
He glanced at his daughter and nodded, then looked at Meilin, eyebrows raised. “A Greencloak—here?” he asked in a deep voice.
As Meilin bowed awkwardly, one of the spiced buns bounced out of her hands and rolled across the carpet, coming to a stop at the emperor’s feet.
He ignored it. “You are Zhongese?” he asked.
Her face flaming with embarrassment, Meilin answered, “Yes, Your Majesty. I am Meilin, the daughter of General Teng, who died fighting for Zhong during the Second Devourer War.”
The emperor nodded. “Your spirit animal is Jhi, the Great Panda.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Meilin answered. She couldn’t stop staring at the spiced bun. If he took a step forward, he would squish it.
“The children of Zhong who summon spirit animals should not be given to the Greencloaks,” he said grandly. “Especially when their spirit animals are the very embodiments of our history. They belong to Zhong.” And with that pronouncement, he turned and strode out of the room, followed by his loyal Oathbound guards.
“Belong?” Meilin repeated. She wished Rollan was there—he would have a smart answer to the emperor’s comment.
“Hurry, Your Highness,” called one of the guards. With a quick nod to Meilin, Princess Song rushed out of the room after them.
As she followed them out, Meilin swooped down and grabbed the spiced bun she had dropped.
Outside the Citadel meeting chamber, Meilin found Abeke, Conor, and Rollan waiting for her. Quickly she handed them each a spiced bun.
Rollan took a big bite of his, then looked suspiciously at it. “Gritty,” he mumbled through his bite.
Meilin gave him a bright smile so he wouldn’t suspect that his had been the bun that dropped on the floor.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said with an innocent blink.
“You’re staring at me.” Rollan rubbed at his cheek. “I have something on my face, don’t I?”
He did, in fact. Meilin still wasn’t used to seeing the scar that ran under Rollan’s left eye and across his cheek, a wound he’d sustained during the climactic battle to stop the Wyrm. It had faded to pink and now was a thin line of white, but it was a reminder of what he’d been through.
Conor, she noticed, looked tired. His scars weren’t like Rollan’s—they weren’t visible. But they went deeper and would be slower to heal. Meilin hoped he was starting to recover.
Rollan nudged her arm and she looked up to see the leader of the Greencloaks, Olvan, with Lenori at his side; they were followed by a full contingent of Greencloaks, some of whom Meilin recognized and some she didn’t.
Other people were starting to gather. Many stared at the Greencloaks as they passed and muttered comments to each other. Meilin saw a proud-looking old man in Niloan garb with a retinue of Oathbound; he had to be the High Chieftain. He was followed into the meeting chamber by the Prime Minister of Amaya and her advisers. The prime minister had a face like a pickled plum, Meilin thought. Wrinkled and sour.
Last came the Queen of Eura, a young woman who was dressed in lace and velvet, with a fur-lined cape. As she crossed the threshold into the meeting chamber, the queen tripped over the edge of her long dress, landing on the floor in a heap of flounces. She shrieked, and three of her courtiers scurried to her side, lifting her to her feet and making soothing noises.
Olvan greeted the young Greencloaks with a nod. He had been taken by the Wyrm, just as Conor had, but he didn’t seem to be as weary or troubled as Conor was. Perhaps he only bore the burden more easily. Lenori looked strange without her spirit animal, a gorgeously feathered rainbow ibis, on her shoulder, but she gave them a welcoming smile.
Olvan glanced over at the people streaming into the meeting chamber. “We had better get in there.” He placed his hands on Meilin’s and Conor’s shoulders, drawing them all closer so they could talk without being overheard. “We thought this meeting would be a formality, but it seems there are some serious proposals on the table. Proposals about what to do with the Greencloaks.”
Rollan narrowed his eyes. “Have they considered maybe just leaving us alone?”
It was a good question, Meilin thought. “They don’t have any authority over us, do they?” she asked.
“These are the leaders of the four major governments of Erdas,” Lenori reminded them.
“And Stetriol,” Conor put in, pointing out the last leader entering the chamber, a young woman dressed in blue and black—an ambassador from the Council of Stetriol. She wore a pin with a silver S on her jacket.
“Right,” Olvan said. “Since Zerif used us to spread the Wyrm’s parasites across Erdas, there have been big changes in the world. These leaders are powerful people, and we have to work with them. Be careful in this meeting.” He fixed Rollan with a severe gaze. “And don’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Rollan muttered.
“Oh, sure you weren’t,” Abeke whispered to him.
The four followed Olvan, Lenori, and the other Greencloaks into the meeting chamber.
The room was massive and echoing. Six stone walls towered over the proceedings, and banners representing each region hung from a very high ceiling; the same flags hung from five of the stone walls. It was more and more significant, Meilin decided, that the Greencloak flag was missing, even though there was a place for it.
In addition to the main entrance, there were doors in each of the walls. Tall windows let in the gray light from outside. In the center of the room was a huge six-sided wooden table. At the table sat the Niloan High Chieftain, the Euran Queen, the Ambassador from Stetriol, and the Amayan Prime Minister, one on each side. At a fifth side sat the Emperor of Zhong, with Princess Song standing quietly beside him. Oathbound guards stood at attention behind all the leaders.
Clearly the sixth side of the table was intended for the Greencloak contingent. There were no chairs.
From the beginning, Meilin had had a bad feeling about this; now the feeling got worse. They were supposed to stand—almost as if they were on trial, and all the lands’ leaders were the judges. She saw Olvan and Lenori hesitate for a moment, and then the two Greencloak leaders went to stand at their side of the table, their heads held proudly high. Meilin, Conor, Rollan, and Abeke stood just behind them with the other Greencloaks.
“I will begin,” said the oldest of the leaders, the Niloan High Chieftain, “by welcoming you here, to the first meeting between the leaders of the four great lands of Erdas in many, many years. Let us hope that this meeting marks the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity.”
An adviser, standing behind him, leaned over to whisper something into the High Chieftain’s ear. He scowled, then nodded. “The four great lands are represented here … and Stetriol, of course.” His dismissive glance showed what he thought of the island continent that had for so long been an enemy of the other lands. “We have much to discuss,” the high chieftain went on. “The first issue on the table … ” His dark eyes surveyed the room. “What to do about the Greencloak problem.”
“Problem?” snorted the Prime Minister of Amaya. “It’s more than a simple problem.”
She definitely resembled a pickled plum, Meilin thought. The woman’s mouth was pursed in disapproval, and her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul.
“If she’s not careful,” Rollan leaned over to whisper in Meilin’s ear, “her face is going to freeze like that.”
Meilin stifled a smile. “Rollan,” she chided. They needed to be on their best behavior.
“The Emperor of Zhong has asked to be the first to speak,” the high chieftain went on.
The emperor nodded, his mouth set in a severe frown. “The Second Devourer War forced the leaders of Erdas into hiding, where we were protected by our Oathbound guards. Then, just as we emerged to begin rebuilding, another attack began. We heard stories of terrible violence. And this time, who was responsible for this destruction?” He raised his hand and pointed across the table, straight at Olvan. “The Greencloaks.”
Beside Meilin, Rollan stirred, as if he was going to protest. She nudged him with her elbow. When he looked over at her, she shook her head. He gave a slight nod.
She knew he didn’t like it. Neither did she. But she had a feeling that speaking now would just make things worse.
The emperor went on, his deep voice filling the room. “The very leader of the Greencloaks was taken by the Wyrm, spreading its corruption. As a group beholden to no nation, but with unparalleled access to all of them, they spread this corruption farther than any other force could have. It is clear to everyone here: The Greencloaks have become too powerful, and far too dangerous.”
“This is true,” the Amayan Prime Minister added in a sharp voice. “They cannot be trusted.”
The Ambassador from Stetriol had a soft voice, but somehow she made herself heard. “We in Stetriol,” she began, as the others fell silent to listen, “have good reason to hate the Greencloaks, who for so long denied us the Nectar that would have prevented the bonding sickness. And yet … ” Serenely, she looked around the room, making sure everyone was listening. “And yet we see the Greencloaks now as allies. With their aid, Stetriol is at last taking its proper place in the world—no longer outcast, no longer forgotten. We value the Greencloaks. For us, they are not a problem, but a solution.”
Meilin felt like cheering at the ambassador’s words.
But the other leaders, even the wide-eyed Euran queen, were starting to look like the prime minister: They were making that disapproving pickled-plum face.
The high chieftain was nodding. “Speaking of the the oh-so-precious Nectar. We all know that the Greencloaks jealously guarded the secret of its creation. Only they were allowed to administer its protective power. But now the Nectar Ceremony doesn’t exist,” the high chieftain said. “The Nectar of Ninani is no longer needed. The Greencloaks, too, are not needed as they once were.”
“Exactly,” boomed the emperor, and slammed a fist onto the table, claiming everyone’s attention. “And so I propose that the Greencloaks should be disbanded.”
Meilin gasped aloud. There were murmurs and nods of agreement from the other leaders. Except for the Ambassador from Stetriol, who frowned and gazed down at the tabletop.
The emperor went inexorably on. “Each of the Marked must be returned to their own nations, to serve their proper lords.”
So that’s what the emperor had meant by belong, Meilin realized. She found herself shaking her head. Looking aside, she saw the same denial on Abeke’s face. Beside her, Conor had gone pale. Break up the Greencloaks? This was wrong. So, so wrong.
But they had been ordered to stay silent. Olvan was the Greencloaks’ leader; he would speak for them.
To Meilin’s dismay, Olvan’s head had lost its proud tilt, and he was staring at the floor as if he couldn’t think of a response. Beside him, Lenori looked troubled. It was true that some of the Greencloaks, including Olvan, had fallen prey to the Wyrm, but they had served it against their will. And they had defeated it, in the end. That is what Olvan should tell the leaders.
But it was Princess Song who spoke next. Standing just behind the emperor’s chair, she looked so small, like a child, and almost fragile. But when she spoke, her voice did not have the soft, sweet tones of a well-bred Zhongese girl. Instead, she sounded like a true leader.
“I disagree with my father,” she said firmly. All the other leaders stopped their stirring to stare at her. The emperor’s face went as still as stone. He folded his arms across his chest, as if denying his daughter’s words.
The princess went bravely on. “Have you forgotten that the Greencloaks saved the entire world?”
“Twice,” Meilin heard Rollan whisper.
“If not for the Greencloaks, the Devourer and his Conquerors would have destroyed everyone in this room,” Song declared. “We owe them our lives. We owe them a place of honor in this remade world!”
Her words rang out, and the room fell into utter silence.
Then her father pushed back his chair and got to his feet, his face a mask of anger. Deliberately he stepped in front of Princess Song, blocking her from the table. “My daughter speaks without permission,” he snapped. “The words of a disobedient girl mean nothing. Do not listen to them.”
“We cannot break up the Greencloaks!” Princess Song insisted.
Her father whirled to face her, fury in every line of his body.
Meilin found she was holding her breath.
But before the emperor could act, all six doors leading into the meeting chamber banged open at the same time, the sounds echoing from the stone walls.
In each doorway stood a man or a woman wearing a green cloak.
They were here to help, Meilin thought, feeling relieved. They would speak to the leaders of Erdas about the Greencloaks’ heroic actions in the wars.
One by one, the green-cloaked figures brought their spirit animals out of their passive states. A hyena crouched at the feet of one, wild-eyed and drooling. A bat swooped over the head of another. There was a raptor of some kind; a small, lithe pantherlike cat; and a white rat with glittering pink eyes.
As one, the Greencloaks in the doorways drew their swords.
Wait. Were they going to … ?
Before Meilin could shout out a warning, the Greencloaks and their animal companions hurled themselves into an attack.
There were screams. The room erupted into chaos.
“WHAT ARE THEY DOING?” ABEKE BLURTED OUT AS THE attackers stormed into the room.
Rollan glanced at her. Abeke’s eyes were wide and horrified.
“It looks like—” He broke off. “They’re Greencloaks, aren’t they?”
Rollan looked around wildly, seeing one of the green-cloaked figures stalk into the room. Her lithe, pantherlike jaguarundi, an animal from Amaya, crouched and then leaped toward the Ambassador of Stetriol, snarling. There was a shrill scream. Some of the leaders were shouting for the Oathbound guards to protect them. Another one of the attackers slashed with his sword, and blood spurted from the chest of one of the queen’s courtiers.
“Who are they?” Conor gasped, drawing his ax.
“We can’t fight them,” Rollan said, shaking his head. “They’re Greencloaks.”
At the table, Olvan had called forth his spirit animal. The mighty moose tossed its antlers, sending the white rat flying. “Call forth your spirit animals!” Olvan roared at the other Greencloaks. “Defend the leaders!”
Meilin was the first to leap into action. Ripping her sword from its sheath, she dove, sliding across the surface of the six-sided table just in time to stop the jaguarundi from advancing on Princess Song.
Roughly, Meilin grabbed Song and shoved her under the table.
“Stay there!” she shouted—and took up a defensive stance. If the invaders wanted to get to the princess, they would have to go through her. A moment later, Jhi was at her side.
Conor had already brought Briggan out of his dormant state. The wolf leaped and intercepted the hyena
in midair. There was a crash of bone and fur and the gnashing of teeth.
Beside Rollan, Abeke had strung her bow and was taking careful aim at one of the invaders’ spirit animals, a huge bat with leathery wings that was swooping down and scratching at the eyes of anyone defending the leaders.
“Let Essix get it!” Rollan shouted to her, calling forth the falcon. As Essix streaked across the room toward the bat, Abeke nodded, then she searched out another target. Rollan heard Uraza’s roar as the great leopard came out of passive state.
All around Rollan was chaos, snarling, and screams. People stumbled past with blood streaming from their wounds. He caught a quick glimpse of Meilin, relieved to see her on her feet, still protecting the princess. Wielding his long knife, he cleared a space around Abeke so she could take aim without worrying about being attacked.
He blocked a thrust from one of the green-cloaked invaders, then kicked at the white rat, which was coming at him with its teeth bared.
There was a lull in the fighting. Everything fell suddenly into quiet while attackers and defenders caught their breaths and decided their next moves. In the silence, the Emperor of Zhong stepped onto a chair and then onto the top of the six-sided table.
“Betrayers!” he thundered, pointing at the invaders. “The Greencloaks have shown what they truly are. Betrayers!”
As if in answer, there was a growl from across the room. The steep-shouldered hyena, bleeding from where Briggan had slashed it with his sharp teeth, sprang past Meilin, past Olvan. It snarled, leaped onto the table, and tore out the emperor’s throat.
All watched in stunned horror as the emperor staggered back, blood spraying from his neck, and collapsed onto the tabletop. Rollan couldn’t even move. It had happened so suddenly.
The hyena bayed with bloody fangs, a howl of triumph.
It was answered by a shrill whistle—a signal—and the green-cloaked invaders and their spirit animals headed for the main exit, slashing and stabbing at anyone who got in their way. They plunged through the doorway. One of Abeke’s arrows thudded into the door just as it slammed behind them.
Heart of the Land Page 3
