Heart of the Land

by Sarah Prineas

  Wikam was pointing out where his soldiers should strike next, surrounded by a personal guard of six burly warriors, all bearing sharp-pointed pikes that kept him clear of the battle. His vulture launched itself from his shoulder, flapping its wings to gain height.

  Uraza snarled, keeping the attacking Oathbound at bay while Abeke drew back her bowstring, sighting down the arrow at her target.

  At that very moment, Wikam turned, and they locked eyes across a mass of Oathbound who were charging into the fight.

  You’re mine, Abeke thought fiercely. She felt the rightness of the shot and released the arrow. It flashed across the space separating her from Wikam, flying straight and true toward his heart.

  Abeke had time to feel a moment of exultation—got you!—when a huge, black-feathered shape swooped down and snatched the arrow out of the air just before it reached its target. The bird flapped upward, croaking in triumph, the arrow clutched in its bony talons. Wikam’s vulture!

  Immediately Abeke reached for another arrow, nocked it, and fired. Seeing it coming, Wikam grabbed one of his own soldiers, pulling the man in front of him. The arrow plunged into the man’s chest. Blood spattered across Wikam’s face. Almost carelessly, he tossed the man aside like a cracked shield. Abeke was ready with another arrow, but it was too late. The Oathbound guards had closed in around Wikam, making him impossible to reach.

  She heard Wikam scream an order. A troop of ten Oathbound split off from the main battle. Bearing swords and spears, they advanced on Abeke. Uraza snarled, and ten more warriors came after her.

  Backing away, Abeke trained an arrow on one, and then another of the Oathbound.

  But she only had seven arrows left.

  It wouldn’t be enough.

  WHEN ABEKE AND URAZA WENT LEFT, CONOR AND Briggan cut their way into the middle of Wikam’s fighters. Conor’s wolflike strength and speed meant none of the Oathbound could match him, and Briggan at his back meant they couldn’t attack him from behind.

  With a yell, Conor whirled his ax over his head, clearing a space around himself and Briggan. One big Oathbound warrior with a huge double-bladed ax stepped over a wounded comrade, right into the opening. He had braided both his fiery red hair and his long beard. The man roared out a challenge. “Come to me, Greencloak!” he shouted. “And learn how to die!” And with heavily muscled arms, he strode forward, swinging the ax, trying to chop Conor in half.

  Conor felt the breeze of its passing as he ducked out of the way.

  With a frustrated shout, the warrior lifted the ax high above his head and brought it down like an executioner, aiming for Conor’s neck. Conor leaped aside, and the ax thudded into the stony ground.

  Too close, Conor thought. The man was big, but he was fast, too. Conor had to end this.

  Another dodge and a roll, and Conor got inside the warrior’s guard. Reversing his grip on his weapon, Conor smashed the butt of his ax under the warrior’s bearded chin.

  But the blow just seemed to make him angier. Roaring with pain and outrage, the warrior went berserk, his ax hacking wildly through the air.

  Conor couldn’t fight a madman. “Let’s go!” he shouted to Briggan, and they retreated, pursued by five Oathbound and the bearded warrior.

  ROLLAN SET FOOT ON THE LAKESHORE JUST AS WORTHY, yowling out a challenge, landed crouched in the middle of a group of Oathbound. They converged on him, and then there was a sort of explosion as Worthy turned into a snarling, whirling weapon of destruction. Screaming black-clad figures went flying in every direction.

  Off to the side, Abeke was taking aim at something with her bow, and Meilin had drawn her sword while calling Jhi out of passive state. Conor was being chased by a pack of Oathbound, with Briggan protecting his back. Even Anka was using her new fighting skills to attack Oathbound seemingly out of nowhere.

  In Rollan’s hand, the Heart of the Land burned hot like stone that had been baking under a desert sun. Frantically, he racked his brain trying to remember the stories he’d heard about the legendary gila monster. The amulet was clearly powerful. If he could figure out how to use it, they might be able to defeat the Oathbound army.

  Something green and black whizzed past his head, and he flinched away. An arrow?

  No—it swooped around, chirping angrily, and darted back toward him. A hummingbird! Not too much of a threat, he thought. It was only a tiny bird. It was the spirit animal of the Marked Amayan Oathbound, who raced toward Rollan brandishing a rapier—a thin sword with a wickedly sharp point. Still holding up the Heart, Rollan ripped the long knife from his belt in time to block the Marked Oathbound’s attack. The hummingbird flashed past his face again, distracting him, and he barely managed to evade the next thrust. He felt a thin line of pain along his cheekbone. Shaking his head, a few drops of blood flew out. Had the bird cut him? Then the Oathbound struck again, and the rapier slid past Rollan’s ribs, ripping a hole in both of his cloaks. At the same moment, the hummingbird darted straight toward his face. It was aiming its sharp beak at his eyes—it was trying to blind him!

  Seeing Rollan in trouble, Essix dove in, her talons reaching for the hummingbird, but it was too swift, easily evading her and flashing in for another attack.

  Rollan threw up his arm to protect his eyes from the hummingbird’s sharp beak.

  Then something hit him hard from the side and he was slammed to the ground. As he landed, the Heart of the Land amulet popped out of his hand and went tumbling among the stones that littered the lakeshore. Rollan struggled against the heavy weight that had hit him—an Oathbound twice his size with hugely muscled arms.

  Rollan slashed at her with his long knife, but the edge of the blade hit her brass collar. She responded by jerking him to his feet and wrapping one of her arms around his neck.

  “Wikam’s orders!” shouted the Oathbound to the Marked Amayan as Rollan struggled to breathe. His feet weren’t even touching the ground! “Get the amulet!” she screamed.

  The Marked Oathbound went to his knees, the hummingbird circling his head. To his dismay, Rollan saw him pick up the Heart—then came a blur of feathers, and Essix swooped down to snatch it from his fingers, soaring into the sky with the Heart clutched in her talons.

  Rollan choked out a yell of triumph, and the Oathbound woman squeezed harder, cutting off his air. He’d already been choked once today—this was really too much! Black spots formed before his eyes, and he clawed at the burly arm that was wrapped around his throat. He was starting to see why wearing neck armor might be a good idea.

  Then he heard a grunt and the pressure on his throat let up. As he went to his knees, gasping for breath, the Oathbound crashed to the ground beside him, unconscious. He looked up to see Anka fading into the background.

  “Thanks!” Rollan rasped.

  He saw what looked like a faint grin cross her face, and then she disappeared again.

  He climbed to his feet, rubbing the new bruises on his neck, trying to spot Essix—and the Heart—but what he saw made his own heart sink.

  Twenty feet away, Meilin had been separated from Jhi and was surrounded by Oathbound. She was a whirlwind of attacks, all efficiency and focus. Her movements were a blur—a chop at one Oathbound’s neck, a blow aimed at another’s ribs, followed by a precise strike at that particular place where boys really don’t want to be hit.

  But when that Oathbound fell at her feet, writhing in pain, another leaped forward to take his place. There were too many of them!

  Worthy was surrounded, too. The Redcloak was bleeding from wounds on both arms, a leg, and his chest, and every time he whirled to rip at an Oathbound attacker with his claws, droplets of his own blood sprayed around him. His mask had been hacked in half, revealing one catlike eye and a snarling mouth. He was fierce, but his movements were slowing.

  Conor was outnumbered, too, though he had used his ax and wolf-given speed to clear an area around him. Abeke had run out of arrows and was using her bow as a staff as she fought an Oathbound armed with a spear.
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br />   “Essix!” Rollan shouted desperately, searching the sky. Then he glimpsed the falcon from the corner of his eye. With Wikam’s vulture on her tail, she dove toward him, holding the Heart in her talons. Rollan reached to meet her, and his fingers closed around the amulet. The vulture, a moment behind, raked its claws across Rollan’s hand, trying to get him to drop the stone, but he held on, ignoring the flash of pain over his knuckles.

  The vulture gave a guttural hiss and banked awkwardly, coming around for another attack.

  As Rollan ducked, he saw that Wikam had ordered another group of Oathbound to form up for an attack—at least twenty of them. Worthy and Meilin would be overwhelmed; Conor and Abeke would not be able to help.

  Rollan slashed at the diving vulture with his long knife and then tried the same move that had cleared the Oathbound from the sand bridge, bringing down his hand holding the Heart like a hammer. Thunder rolled out, and under the Heart’s power the land bucked and heaved. The attacking Oathbound were flung onto their knees. But so were his friends. As the earthquake passed, they all jumped to their feet again, picked up the weapons they’d dropped, and the fight resumed.

  “All right, that didn’t work,” Rollan muttered to himself. “Gila monster.” He backed away as two Oathbound came at him with swords drawn. “Lizard,” he chanted frantically. “Uh … burrows in the ground.” He gripped the Heart. “Burrower!” he shouted.

  The group of Oathbound had almost reached the spot where Meilin and Worthy were now fighting back-to-back.

  Swooping forward with the speed of one of Essix’s dives, Rollan punched the fist holding the amulet toward the Oathbound attackers. He felt power roll out, and with a rumble and a heave of dirt, a sinkhole opened right under the Oathbounds’ feet. All twenty of them tumbled down, shrieking. Their cries grew louder as Rollan gestured again and the dirt flowed back, covering them up to their necks.

  “Hah!” he yelled.

  Worthy echoed him, yowling with glee.

  Meilin connected a blow with an opponent’s head and then spun around, checking for attackers, but she’d dealt with all of them. Rollan’s eyes met hers; she gave a nod of approval.

  And then she looked past him, and her eyes went wide with dismay.

  Whirling, Rollan saw what she was looking at.

  Wikam had been holding even more Oathbound in reserve. A large group of archers aimed their powerful longbows. They had nocked their heavy arrows, tipped with razor-sharp barbs. At Wikam’s shouted command, the archers drew back their bowstrings.

  Rollan’s heart froze. The Oathbound leader was not trying to capture them anymore. This wasn’t about justice. His archers were aiming to kill.

  “Get down!” Rollan heard Abeke scream.

  But it was too late.

  The archers fired. A storm of arrows streaked through the air.

  Aimed at the Greencloaks’ hearts.

  AS THE OATHBOUND ARCHERS RELEASED THEIR arrows, Meilin knew she was about to die. She and her best friends would be struck by enough arrows to kill them instantly. Instinctively, she looked for Rollan, expecting to see his face pale with fright as he faced death.

  But instead, his eyes were bright as he held up the glowing Heart of the Land. “Gila monster!” he was shouting. “Armor!”

  The arrows, black and deadly, hissed through the air. They were mere inches away as Rollan’s hand went out in a blocking gesture, and every single arrow suddenly stopped, hung in the air for a second, and then fell to the ground with a clatter.

  “Rollan, I think I love you … ” was Worthy’s breathless comment.

  “Ooh, arrows!” Abeke exclaimed. She started gathering them up, stuffing as many as she could into her quiver.

  “Another gila monster trait,” Rollan said, grinning. “They’re associated with armor. The other one that I can think of is their venomous bite.” He cocked his head. “Think I can get close enough to Wikam to bite him?”

  Meilin glanced in that direction. Her heart dropped. “No,” she said briefly, and raised her sword, ready to fight. Behind her, Jhi gave a mournful roar.

  The Oathbound archers had set down their bows and had drawn swords. A shrieked order from Wikam, and they charged toward the five Greencloaks and Worthy.

  “Time for another sinkhole!” Rollan said, raising the Heart of the Land.

  But the Oathbound were ready for that.

  As Rollan punched his fist, holding the Heart toward the mass of fighters, they parted, racing around the sinkhole that opened in the ground. Another wave of attackers followed.

  A moment later, Meilin and her allies were surrounded by a thicket of gleaming swords.

  “Surrender!” screamed Wikam, who had followed his fighters. They were opening up a way for him to get to the Greencloaks. His vulture swooped low, then landed on his shoulder, its ugly face looking smug with victory.

  Meilin saw Worthy’s shoulders slump, and Abeke lowered her bow. A glance at Rollan, and he shook his head, eyes wide. The Heart couldn’t save them now.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” Anka said from beside her. “I can’t hide us when we’re right in front of them.”

  “Throw down your weapons, renegade Greencloaks,” Wikam ordered, “and put your spirit animals into passive state!”

  Meilin saw Rollan glance up, looking for Essix—she could escape with the Heart.

  “If I see that falcon come near the amulet,” Wikam shouted, “I will have it shot from the air!”

  Rollan gulped and lowered his fist. The Heart of the Land’s glow was fading.

  Slowly, Meilin straightened. The excitement of battle drained from her muscles, leaving her shaking. It was over. They couldn’t resist without being killed. She called Jhi, and the panda went into the passive state; Abeke and Conor had done the same with Uraza and Briggan. Essix was nowhere to be seen.

  “Lay down your weapons!” Wikam ordered. Tall and gaunt, he stood with arms crossed, just behind the first row of Oathbound fighters, who still had their swords drawn. “It is time for you to face the justice you deserve.”

  Meilin knew that justice was exactly what they wouldn’t get from Wikam.

  All he would offer them was death.

  Conor was bending to set his ax on the ground when suddenly Worthy ripped off the remains of his mask and let out a sound that was part snarl, part yowl, and fiercely triumphant. “Redcloaks!” he shouted. “To me!”

  Meilin stared in astonishment as a group of twelve red-cloaked, mask-wearing fighters burst from the forest near the lake and raced across the pebbly shoreline toward them.

  Seeing the new threat, Wikam whirled and started shrieking orders to his Oathbound. Half stayed to guard the Greencloaks; the other half, at least forty fighters, split off to meet the newcomers.

  The Redcloaks were outnumbered three to one, but each of them had the power, speed, and strength of the spirit animals they were once bonded with. It was an even fight … almost.

  “Now is our chance to escape!” Worthy shouted.

  Meilin nodded; the others were already raising their weapons again. She saw Worthy exchange a kind of salute with the leader of the Redcloaks—who wore a white mask in the shape of a ram’s face.

  Worthy, she realized, had known the Redcloak fighters had been coming to help them!

  No sense in wasting this opportunity.

  “Let’s go!” Meilin shouted, and with a lightning-fast move, she disarmed the nearest Oathbound fighter, seizing her sword for herself. A sweeping strike with that sword, and she was through the line of guards; the others followed. In the distance she heard a howl of outrage as Wikam realized the Greencloaks were getting away. A group of Oathbound broke off from those fighting the Redcloaks and started in pursuit. The Redcloaks, using their superhuman speed, raced to block them.

  “Shouldn’t we help?” Abeke called, looking back over her shoulder. She had one of the Oathbound arrows in her hand and looked ready to nock it and let it fly.

  “Stead and the others
are giving us time to escape!” Worthy panted. He pointed toward the forest path.

  “Wait!” Rollan shouted, and stumbled to a halt. The others gathered around him, panting. “They’ll know exactly where we’ve gone, and we can’t outrun them for long. The vulture will track us.”

  Down the beach, the Redcloaks were fighting wildly, holding back the mass of black-clad Oathbound.

  “We have to go!” Worthy yowled frantically.

  “We’d better run,” Meilin agreed.

  “No,” Rollan said briefly. “I just realized what it means that gila monsters are burrowers.” He raised his hand—still holding the Heart of the Land. It glowed brightly again. “Tunnel!” he shouted.

  With a rumble, the pebbles at their feet shifted; they all jumped back as a hole in the ground opened, just big enough to crawl into.

  Rollan bent to peer into it. “It’s a tunnel, all right.” Crumbles of dirt fell from around the opening. It didn’t look very stable.

  “You go first,” Worthy said, looking doubtful.

  Rolling his eyes, Rollan crawled in. His voice drifted back to them. “It’s opening up ahead of me. It’s leading away! Come on!”

  One by one, they followed, keeping their spirit animals in passive state. Meilin went last. As she crawled into the hole, following Worthy, the dirt caved in behind her. She felt a moment of panic—they’d be trapped!—when she realized that the tunnel was closing behind them, hiding where they had gone.

  She crawled for what seemed like a long, long time in utter blackness.

  “I hate this,” she heard Worthy mutter.