Song had told Meilin that she envied her, and it was true. Even without the careful makeup of a royal princess, Meilin was beautiful—as beautiful as a drawn sword. Meilin looked the way a true empress would look. Powerful. Skilled. Dangerous. Deadly.
Song knew she would never look like that.
In order to take her proper place—in order to help the people of Zhong—she would have to prove herself all those things.
“Your Highness,” Brunhild repeated again from the door.
Song allowed one carefully penciled eyebrow to lift just a hair higher. It was an expression her father had made many times. In the mirror, she saw the Oathbound guard’s reflection shift uncomfortably.
“Your Majesty,” Brunhild corrected herself.
Song did not allow herself to smile. But she was satisfied.
She owned Brunhild’s loyalty. The Oathbound was sworn to serve her. But she had a great deal of work to do before the leaders of Erdas would consider her an equal. And then, on returning to Zhong, she would have to convince an entire country of her ability to rule. To be Majesty instead of Highness.
Gracefully, Princess Song rose to her feet. “Have the leaders gathered?”
Brunhild bowed. “They have. They await you.”
A regal nod, and Song led the way from the Zhongese wing to the Citadel’s main meeting room.
The chamber in which her father had been killed.
By Greencloaks.
Despite an intensive search by the Oathbound, the four youngest Greencloaks had all escaped, leaving their comrades behind.
As Song stepped into the meeting chamber, her eyes went to the six-sided table that stood in the center of the room. Its surface had been scrubbed, but the stain of her father’s blood remained, soaked deeply into the wood.
Sitting at the table was the Niloan High Chieftain, old and set in his ways. Next to him was the Euran Queen, who was always accompanied by a retinue of three or four nobles from her kingdom. She was young, very blond, and had oddly vacant eyes. The other leader was the Amayan Prime Minister, a middle-aged woman with a disapproving pout on her face. The Ambassador from Stetriol was there, too. She had been wounded in the same attack that had killed Song’s father. Her arm was crooked in a sling and her skin was ashy pale. She should probably still be in bed, recovering.
Song circled the table until she reached the Emperor of Zhong’s seat.
The last time the leaders had met, she had stood behind this chair, eyes lowered, until she had dared speak out, defending the Greencloaks.
Zhong must not appear weak to the other nations, even now. Especially now.
Decisively, she sat in the emperor’s chair, folded her hands in her lap, and looked around the table at the other leaders.
They stared back at her. But none challenged her right to sit at the table with them. Song allowed herself a tiny moment of triumph. The rest of the meeting would be a challenge—her chance to begin proving herself as a true leader.
The Niloan High Chieftain cleared his throat and began. “Now that the princess has finally arrived,” he said in a voice tinged with complaint, “we can decide what to do next about the Greencloaks.”
“I’ll tell you what we must do,” said the Amayan Prime Minister sharply. “The Greencloaks must be broken up and returned to their own lands. Those who were involved in this disaster must be rooted out and prosecuted.”
“The Greencloaks are bad” was the Euran Queen’s contribution.
“Bad doesn’t even begin to describe them,” complained the Niloan High Chieftain. “They are corrupt. They serve only each other. They owe their proper leaders no allegiance. Clearly they cannot be trusted.”
The queen looked around the table, blinking. “They cannot be trusted,” she repeated.
Princess Song sighed inwardly. The Euran Queen was lovely, but there wasn’t much going on behind her pretty blue eyes. “I advise patience,” Song said.
“Patience,” scoffed the Amayan Prime Minister. “There can be no doubt about the Greencloaks. The attack in this very chamber told us all we need to know about them.”
“And yet they have served all the nations of Erdas,” Song said.
“They served in order to gain power for themselves,” the prime minister said. “And look where it has led!” She pointed at the bloodstain in the middle of the table. “Your own country, Zhong, has been left leaderless!”
Song took a steadying breath. Yes, she mourned her father. But now was a time for action, not tears. She would guide her people, if they’d only give her a chance. “As we all know,” she said calmly, “Greencloaks all over the world are being arrested and arraigned.”
“And when we catch them all, we’ll put their traitorous leaders on trial—for murder!” shouted the Amayan Prime Minister.
“The Niloan Greencloaks must be returned to Nilo,” the high chieftain put in, folding his skinny arms. “In my country we have harsh penalties for betrayers.”
“They must be treated fairly,” Song insisted. Carefully she caught the eye of the Euran Queen and gave an encouraging nod.
“They must be treated fairly,” the queen repeated.
The ambassador had not yet spoken. Now she cleared her throat and said, “The world is watching us now.” She nodded at Song. “Stetriol agrees with … with the daughter of the Emperor of Zhong. The Greencloaks must be gathered and sent to Greenhaven, where they can be imprisoned until they’re given a trial—a fair trial.”
“Did they give the emperor a fair trial before they killed him?” demanded the high chieftain. “They are assassins. Which one of us will they attack next?”
The meeting continued. Now Princess Song stayed quiet, observing how the leaders’ tempers were fraying. There were signs of disunity. As the leaders argued, they didn’t seem to realize what a danger that meant. Maybe they had been hidden away for too long to understand that leaders were supposed to lead. Not sit around arguing with each other. At one point, the Amayan Prime Minister banged her fist on the table and sourly told the Euran Queen to stay quiet unless she had something intelligent to say. In response, the queen’s eyes filled with tears. Gathering her courtiers, she fled the room, weeping. The Niloan High Chieftain followed, snorting his disgust and stalking out.
As the meeting ended, Princess Song, followed by her Oathbound guards, headed for the Citadel tower where the two Greencloak leaders were still imprisoned. The rest of the Greencloaks captured in the Citadel had been sent ahead to Greenhaven, but these two remained for questioning.
At the tower, a guard bowed and opened the door. Princess Song entered the cell where the Greencloak leader was being held. The other one, Lenori, was next door, but it was Olvan who Song wanted to see.
Olvan had been bitten by Brunhild the Merry’s spirit animal, a viper. The snake’s venom had turned his body hard, like stone. Orders had been given that Olvan should be treated with just enough of the antidote to keep him alive, but not enough to allow him to move or to be a danger. He could only breathe, and blink.
The Greencloak leader was a big, gray-bearded old man with a stern face set in a fierce frown. Some of the guards must have lifted him out of bed, for Olvan was propped against one wall, as still as a sculpture.
Seeing Princess Song, he blinked. His lips twitched, as if he wanted to speak. But the venom had its hold on him, so he could not move any more than that.
“Greetings,” Song said politely. “I expect you are worried about the four young Greencloaks. The Heroes of Erdas, as they’re called.”
Olvan blinked.
“They have not been captured. At last report, they fled to Amaya.” Song stepped to the cell’s window and looked out. “You have a nice view here of the mountains.” She glanced at the old man, who could only stare straight ahead. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen it, though, have you?”
She stepped into his line of sight. His face, she thought, grew sterner. Angry, even. She sighed softly. “Why Amaya?” she wondered. She gave h
er head a brief shake. “They cannot hope to escape. The Oathbound are everywhere.”
She waited a moment, as if to allow him a chance to respond. When he remained silent, she went on. “Your Greencloaks are being gathered in Greenhaven. The castle is to become their prison. We thought it a small mercy to hold them in a familiar place until they can be put on trial.”
As she continued, she lifted her chin, as if wrapping a cloak of Majesty around herself. She spoke as the Empress of Zhong would speak. “On trial for what, you may wonder? And I will tell you. You, Olvan, and all the Greencloaks, are charged with treason, and with the coldhearted murder of the Emperor of Zhong.” For just a moment, she remembered the bloodstained table, and her voice wavered. “My f-father.”
The Greencloak leader did nothing but stare straight ahead, without even blinking. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her words.
ABEKE HAD CHECKED HER ARROWS THE DAY BEFORE.
As morning approached, she checked them again, looking them over one by one as she walked. The shafts were straight, that was the main thing. The feather fletchings were balanced. The tips were razor-sharp. These arrows would fly true.
They would need to. Rollan’s report the night before had horrified all of them.
An army. An entire army of Oathbound soldiers, hundreds of them, with the relentless Wikam the Just as their leader. Abeke glanced at the sky, but she didn’t see the vulture. She had tried shooting at the bird before, but it usually flew too high. Now she couldn’t risk losing any arrows.
After hearing Rollan’s report, Anka had led them through the forest, keeping them invisible so any Oathbound scouts would not be able to track them. They had no time to stop and rest for the night. The trail led uphill toward the lake where the island called Heart of the Land was located. If they went quickly and quietly, Anka said, they could reach the lake by early morning.
Just as the sky lightened with dawn, Anka let them rest for a few moments. While Abeke inspected her bow, Uraza flopped on the ground beside her. The others sat, and Worthy pawed through the one bag of supplies that Rollan had managed to rescue from their camp.
Worthy pulled something out of the pack and quickly handed it off to Rollan. Abeke didn’t get a good look at the object.
Standing, Rollan yawned loudly, then he stepped away to stretch and get ready. When he returned, he was wearing an enormous brown cloak he’d picked up in town. It looked bulky and warm in the Amayan heat, but Abeke supposed he found the weight of it comforting, after giving up Tarik’s cloak.
Worthy peered into the bag. “Nothing in here but medical supplies.” He looked up, his eyes wide behind his mask. “Do you know what this means?”
“No,” Conor said wearily. He sat with his back against a tree, Briggan’s head on his leg. “What does it mean?”
“No breakfast,” Worthy said sadly.
And no dinner, either, Abeke knew. She gritted her teeth and tried not to think about it.
“Let’s go,” Anka said. The sky was growing light. “It’s not far now.”
Groaning, they all got to their feet. Abeke saw Meilin pat the pouch where she kept the rock—the unrevealed Heart of the Land. Checking to be sure it was still there.
The path they followed wound between huge pine trees. It was studded with stones and crossed by twisted roots—Abeke had to watch where she was going, or she could easily fall. Uraza paced beside her, ears pricked, violet eyes watchful. Anka and Conor hiked a few steps ahead with Briggan. Meilin, Worthy, and Rollan came after.
“Did you hear that?” Worthy asked.
“What?” Meilin asked, stopping in her tracks and cocking her head. “Is it the Oathbound scouts?”
“No,” Worthy said, sounding disgusted. “It was my stomach.”
Uraza turned her head and growled at him.
“Yes, growling,” Worthy complained. “I’m starving!”
“You’ve missed exactly one meal,” Meilin said calmly, and started walking again. “You’re hardly starving.”
“I am,” Worthy said dolefully, following. “Starving to death.” Then he glanced over his shoulder at Rollan, who walked two steps behind him with Essix. The gyrfalcon had been slightly wounded in her fight against the vulture. She was now riding on Rollan’s shoulder, looking ruffled and annoyed. “Rollan,” Worthy said, “you’re from Amaya. You must know how to forage for food. Tell us where to find roots and berries.”
“Oh sure,” Rollan said sharply. “If somebody threw roots and berries on a trash heap in Concorba, I’m your guy. That’s the kind of foraging I know about.”
“Cranky,” complained Worthy.
Abeke couldn’t stand another second of this. “Worthy, were you ever in your entire life unsure of where your next meal was coming from?”
“Not until now,” Worthy answered grumpily.
“Oh, poor you,” Abeke heard Rollan mutter, and he did sound a little cranky.
Abeke didn’t blame him. They might have let Worthy join them, but the Redcloak boy was still intensely annoying. Some of the time.
They traveled as the morning continued, climbing higher and higher, until Abeke felt light-headed from hunger and the altitude.
Ever since the attack on their camp, there had not been a sign of the Oathbound, neither the trackers nor the army. Abeke thought it meant Rollan had been right the day before—Wikam the Just and his Oathbound knew about the rock and wanted the Greencloaks to reveal it before they pounced.
Well, she and her friends would be ready for them. Uraza was ready, for sure. Abeke had never seen the leopard so on edge, or Briggan, either. Both spirit animals were eager to fight.
There was a grumbling sound.
“Did you hear that?” Worthy said.
“Stop complaining about your stomach!” Meilin snapped.
“I’m not!” Worthy protested. Abeke turned to see him pointing at the sky. “Thunder,” he said grimly.
He was right. Abeke had been watching the path, trying not to trip, and she hadn’t noticed how the morning was getting darker instead of lighter. Now the clouds were gray, and so low they seemed to be snagged on the pointed tips of the pine trees. Distant thunder growled again.
Quickly, Abeke unstrung her bow and wrapped it in its leather case. The string couldn’t get too wet, or it wouldn’t function when she needed it. She wrapped the arrows in the quiver, too.
“No, Worthy,” she heard Meilin say, a little scornfully, “we are not stopping to shelter from the storm. We have to go on.”
There was more grumbling. Worthy, this time, and not the thunder.
Abeke smiled to herself. She suspected this was more than just Devin Trunswick’s fussiness showing through. As a Redcloak, Worthy had taken on aspects of his spirit animal, the black panther.
Conor stepped up to walk at her side. “What are you smiling about?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Worthy. He’s like Uraza—like most cats. He doesn’t like getting wet.”
Conor glanced down at Briggan, who trotted at his side with his tongue lolling. “We don’t mind the rain.” Then he nodded toward Rollan, who was coming up the rutted path behind them. “But I bet we’re all going to wish for our old cloaks by the time today is over.”
Perhaps Rollan had been wise to replace his after all. Abeke agreed, and they went on. A few spatters of rain began to fall, heavy drops that made little craters in the dusty path.
“Abeke,” Conor said, in a low voice, “speaking of getting wet … ”
She nodded to show him that she was listening.
“Four nights ago I had a dream,” he said.
She glanced quickly at him. “Not a—”
“No,” he reassured her. “Not a Wyrm nightmare. I’m done with those. Something else.” He swallowed and looked away. “Almost as scary.”
Abeke stopped short and called to the others to join them. They gathered on the path in a tight circle.
“What’s the matter?” Meilin asked.
“Cono
r must have grown faint from hunger,” Worthy said.
All five of the Greencloaks scowled at him.
“Sor-ry,” Worthy said, rolling his eyes.
“Conor had a dream,” Abeke explained. As she spoke, the wind from the coming storm grew stronger. The pine branches in the forest all around them trembled, and the air turned sharply colder. Thunder rumbled in the sky, closer than it had been before.
Rollan glanced up at the gray clouds. “Ominous,” he said.
“You had a prophetic dream?” Meilin asked, all business.
Conor nodded. “I think so. I’ve had it twice now, so I figure I’d better tell you about it, just in case.” He looked around the group. “I was standing in a high place. The first time I had the dream, I couldn’t tell where I was. The second time, I could see that I was standing on a stone surface, maybe the tower of a castle or a cliff. At the beginning of the dream, everything is dark. Then a light comes up, and I’m looking over the surface of an ocean.”
His blue eyes seemed to be seeing that sight again, Abeke thought. They had a faraway look.
“The ocean is completely flat,” Conor went on. “It’s creepy. Too quiet. I stand there for a long time, and then I notice that the water is pulling away.” He shook his head. “Or like it’s taking a deep breath. Then the noise starts.” Above them, the thunder grumbled, and Conor jerked with surprise. “Like that. Like thunder, but without stopping. I’m still looking out at the ocean, and I see a shadow in the distance. It grows taller and taller, rising from the surface of the water, as tall as a mountain, until it blots out the light, and then I see that it’s a wave. A huge wall of water rushing toward me.” He swallowed.
Abeke was staring at him; so were the others, their mouths open, their eyes wide.
“And then what happens?” Anka asked dryly.
Conor took a deep breath. “The wave leans over, and the top of it turns white with foam as it crests.” He shook his head. “I can’t do anything. I just stand there and watch it as it arches overhead. It’s roaring, thundering. My heart is pounding, but I can’t move. And then it crashes down over me.”
Heart of the Land Page 11
