A few feet ahead, Rutane gives the hand signal we are waiting for. Seconds later, his warriors rise with a mighty roar from behind the boulders and charge toward Parthelon’s men. I push down my trepidation at fighting my own people as I follow them into the fray.
For a moment, the Cweltans facing us hesitate, as though considering dropping their spears and surrendering, but then Parthelon’s voice booms out, clear and commanding. “Kill her! Kill them all! She has destroyed our pact with the Maulers. They will scalp your families if you don’t avenge them.”
I duck to avoid the spears hurtling in my direction, then lift my arm and aim for a Cweltan poised to kill Ghil, who is fighting savagely at close quarters, wielding his knives with unerring accuracy. The Cweltan topples over and I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. Time elongates as the clashes of battle and the screams of the fallen blend in a twisted nightmare in my brain. Somewhere in the fog of the fight, I’m dully aware that we’re gaining the upper hand, but the thought brings only cold cheer. The fight wages on for several more minutes before the Cweltans who sided with Parthelon begin to desert the battle, knowing they are defeated. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Parthelon scouring the scene from the sidelines before turning and fleeing with them. Coward! He has evaded me for now, but I will catch up with him and render justice before the day is out.
I lean over on my thighs and take a few heaving breaths trying to slow my racing heartbeat. I look out over the dead bodies of those who rebelled against me, and my heart is grieved, both for my people and by my people. They were deceived and scared, but ultimately, they were weak and chose to be cowards instead of refusing to go along with Parthelon and his traitorous dealings.
Rutane jogs up to me, his spear sticky with Cweltan blood, his skin glistening with the sweat of battle. “Parthelon got away.”
I nod. “We’ll split up. My friends and I will pursue him and hunt down the elders who stood with him. The warriors can escort the injured and those who cannot fight to safety in the stealth fighter, and then meet us on the outskirts of the settlement to finish what we started at the Maulers’ camp.”
“I will go with you to hunt Parthelon,” Rutane says. “You’ll need a few warriors along.”
I walk over to the others. “Ghil, I need you to show the warriors the way to the stealth fighter. Take the injured, and Buir, Yeltavia, and my mother. I’m going after Parthelon. As soon as I have word of victory, I’ll link to Ayma.”
Ghil hesitates for only a moment before he acquiesces. As much as he wants to help me finish this, the thought of being separated from Buir again is too much for him to bear.
I cast a quick look around at the warriors at Rutane’s side, armed and bloodied, ready to die for their chieftain. A searing pride races through my heart at their bravery and selflessness. These are the Cweltans my father is smiling down on. “Don a shramskin robe from one of the fallen,” I say. “We’ll need to blend in.”
The trek back to the settlement is even more hazardous now that daylight shines a spotlight on our progress. When we reach the outskirts, we settle down to observe the proceedings behind a shield of boulders. The marketplace is a hub of early morning activity as vendors set up their wares, but there’s no sign of Parthelon or the men who fled with him.
We watch for several more minutes, searching for any indication of a possible trap or ambush, and then make our way to the back of the nearest building. A Cweltan woman emptying out a slop bucket startles at the sight of us. “Trattora!” she gasps.
I put a finger to my mouth and glance around to make sure she wasn’t overheard. I recognize her as one of the servants from the Great Hall.
“I heard a rumor you had returned, but I scarcely dared believe it,” she whispers. “Parthelon has put a hefty bounty on your head.”
“Is he here?” I ask.
“He went to meet with the Mauler overlord.” She hesitates, a curious look in her eyes. “Were you really responsible for the attack on the Maulers’ camp?”
I give a grim nod. “Parthelon had no business making a treaty with those murderers. We will fight until we rid Cwelt of every last one of them. Do you know where the elders are?”
The woman gestures farther down the street. “They are waiting for Parthelon at Marph’s house.”
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here,” I say, turning to leave.
“Wait!” The woman grabs my sleeve. “What about your mother?”
“She’s safe.” I grit my teeth. “I will never see her wed to Parthelon.”
A look of relief passes over the woman’s face. She bends down and lifts her bucket. “Go, before someone else sees you. Parthelon and the Maulers have spies everywhere.”
I wave the others forward and we continue on down the street, ducking behind the buildings when Cweltans pass by, not willing to trust anyone who might give us away.
Outside Marph’s house, two Cweltan guards monitor the comings and goings. The back of the house is unguarded. I can easily scale the wall and climb through the window opening, but the elders would alert the guards immediately. They will have to be incapacitated, preferably not eliminated. Too many of my people have died today already.
“We’ll need to distract the guards,” I say to the others. “Any volunteers?”
“I’m always up for a good old-fashioned scuffle in the street,” Phin says, raising a brow at Rutane. “But it should be Cweltans, so it doesn’t raise any red flags.”
Rutane nods and selects one of his men. They throw up their hoods, walk out to the main street and huddle together in front of a market stall. After a few minutes, Rutane throws a punch at the man who returns it convincingly before pulling Rutane to the ground and rolling over on him, yelling at him to repay his debt.
From the shadows behind the hut, I see the two guards take notice of the fight. As Rutane and his man roll closer to the front steps of Marph’s house, the two guards exchange a look and then hurry out into the street to break up the fight. Rutane and his man waste no time dragging them into the scuffle and knocking them unconscious.
Velkan, Phin, and I, along with the rest of Rutane’s men, make a beeline for the back of Marph’s house. The window is tightly shuttered.
“The elders aren’t taking any chances,” I say. “We’ll have to climb onto the roof and break through.” Before anyone can talk me out of it, I scramble up and begin hacking through the thatch above the sleeping quarters with my knife until I make a hole big enough to squeeze through. I wave the others up to the roof. One-by-one we lower ourselves down, and then creep along the hallway to the kitchen where the elders are clustered around the table.
They look up, dumbfounded, when I step into the room.
Before I can speak, Marph grabs Karad in a headlock and points a knife at his throat. “Move and he dies.”
26
Frozen in place, I shoot a furtive glance at the other elders—most of them men whose faces have been familiar to me since childhood, all whom have sat with my father in the receiving room in our hut on many occasions. Karad told me that only half the elders support Parthelon, but now, when lives are at stake, I can’t get an accurate read from their shocked expressions as to where their loyalties lie. Are they happy to see me, or dismayed? Doubt batters my brain. I was wrong about Marph, I could be wrong about them too.
Hesitantly, I raise my hands in surrender. “Let Karad go. We’re not here to harm you.”
Marph sneers at my words, his eyes darting over my shoulder. “You brought warriors, you seek blood.”
“I seek only to avenge my father’s traitors,” I say. “Those who side with Parthelon are no friends of mine. I am asking for your allegiance.”
The other elders shift uneasily in their chairs, exchanging uncertain looks with one another.
“We did nothing wrong in supporting Parthelon,” Marph says, a nerve twitching in his face. “Cweltan law demands fealty to an elected chieftain.”
“The law doesn’t always
lead to justice.” I take a small step toward him. “Parthelon is allowing the Maulers to rob Cwelt blind of her resources, and yet you cower before him and do nothing.”
“Parthelon negotiated terms that ensure our people will live,” Marph replies.
I clench my fists at my sides. “Exist, you mean. He turned you into slaves on your own planet—permitted to live only to serve the very savages who invaded and took your land.”
“What do you want, Trattora?” Marph asks, his voice low and threatening. Beads of sweat trickle down from his forehead and the knife he’s holding to Karad’s throat begins to shake a little. I lower my voice to calm him.
“I want you to stand with me and resist the Maulers. We will not be alone in our endeavor.” I gesture over my shoulder to Velkan, Phin, and Rutane. “The warriors are with us, and the Syndicate fleet is on its way to destroy the Maulers’ ships. We will only have to defeat their ground forces.”
“A foolhardy venture,” Marph growls, his eyes wild and glittering, spittle dangling from his silver beard. “Thanks to your mindless raid on their camp, they sent for reinforcements. They are threatening to scalp every man, woman, and child in the settlement. Parthelon seeks to appease them even now.”
I let the import of his words sink in. So that’s why Parthelon went to the Maulers’ camp—to grovel before them like he always does. A flare of adrenaline rushes through me. “All the more reason to fight for your families’ honor instead of begging for scraps like dogs. If you join me now, I will forgive your betrayal.”
“You talk like a fool,” Marph snaps. “We will not die in a rebellion doomed to fail.”
I look around at the other elders. “What is your decision?”
In the silence that follows, the sound of Marph’s heavy breathing is almost oppressive. He’s sweating profusely now. He presses the tip of the knife tighter to Karad’s neck and takes a step toward the door. “If you divide the elders, he will be the first to die.”
He signals to the others to follow him, and one-by-one they rise from the table, albeit reluctantly. No one is willing to risk Karad’s life when Marph is coming unhinged, although I can tell by the looks several of them shoot me that they are on my side.
Marph edges closer to the doorway, forcing Karad along with him. “If you send warriors after us, I will turn this traitor, and his wife and child, over to the Maulers, and their blood will be on your conscience.”
He fixes one last dark look on me before exiting the room, trailed by the other elders. The last one through, locks his gaze with mine before placing something wrapped in cloth in my hand. He averts his eyes and hurries out the door before I can say anything.
As soon as Marph and the elders exit the hut, I unwrap the object. It’s a small, smooth stone engraved with a list of six names, beginning with Karad’s. My throat tightens at the hollow feeling in my chest. I know what I must do, but it doesn’t lessen my regret. “These are the names of the elders who are with us,” I say to Rutane. “Their lives are to be spared. The remaining elders have chosen Parthelon’s fate.”
I slip the rock inside a pocket in my shramskin and sink down at the table to sort out my conflicted thoughts. I don’t dare let Rutane and the warriors pursue the elders now and risk Karad’s life—I have no doubt that Marph will carry out his threat to turn Karad and his family over to the Maulers if we defy him. And without the elders standing by me, it will be difficult to rally my people to fight. They will be confused and scared of being scalped, reluctant to defy Parthelon who, up until now, has had sway with the Maulers.
Velkan places a hand on my shoulder. “We can still appeal to the people. The warriors are with you.”
I grimace. “Unless my people hear from the elders, they will not support me usurping Parthelon.”
“Then you must eliminate the elders who oppose you,” Phin says. “As long as Cwelt remains divided, you cannot hope to defeat the Maulers.”
Velkan nods thoughtfully. “Phin’s right. Parthelon destroyed the trust among your people. They need something to unite them.”
“And I must give it to them.” I let out a heavy sigh. “But what?”
“You are enough to unite them,” Phin says. “Show yourself to your people. The rumor is already circulating that you are back, but the people need to see for themselves that you live.”
A sound outside the entryway startles us.
“Is it Maulers?” I whisper to Rutane as he flattens himself against the wall and peers through a window.
“No, it’s—” He blinks as though doubting what he’s seeing. “It’s Karad!”
I jump up from the table and stare at the figure stumbling up the front steps, one bloodied hand clutched to his stomach. A tremor slides across my shoulders. “He’s hurt!” I yell, darting through the door to grab him before he collapses. Phin comes to my aid and helps me lift him over the threshold. He carries Karad into the kitchen and lays him down on the table.
“It’s bad,” Phin mutters, expertly examining the wound. “He’s been stabbed in the stomach.”
Karad attempts to lift his head and speak.
“Lay still!” I gingerly place a hand on his shoulder. “Everything’s going to be all right.” I turn to Rutane. “Fetch Nalkryie!”
“I don’t think even a healer can save him,” Phin says in a grim whisper.
Karad tugs on my robe with shaking fingers, pulling each breath with difficulty. “Under … shed … by my hut.”
“Don’t try and talk,” I urge him. “We’ll get Nalkryie here to help you.”
“Go … now … before Marph finds—” His head flops back and his eyes roll in his head. Panic ricochets through me. “Is he dead?” I whisper.
Phin checks Karad’s pulse. “Weak, but he’s alive.” He grimaces. “Marph never had any intention of letting him live. He knew he couldn’t trust him.”
“Sounds like Karad hid something from him under his shed,” Velkan muses.
“Probably just a family heirloom. Cweltans often bury them for safekeeping,” Rutane explains. “To be passed down when …” His voice trails off as if he’s only just remembered that Karad might still be able to hear him.
I stare at Rutane, fumbling with a disturbing thought. For safekeeping. The air rushes from my lungs. What if Karad’s wife and child are hiding under the shed? Maybe that’s what he was trying to tell us. If Marph finds them first, he will kill them. Blood pounds in my temples. At all costs, we must save them. I owe Karad that much for everything he’s risked to help me.
“I think I know what Karad was trying to tell us.” I jump up and throw my hood over my head. “His wife and son are hiding under the shed. I need to get them out before Marph finds them.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Phin protests.
“Marph might have taken Karad’s life,” I say, tightening my shramskin around me. “But I won’t let him take his family too.”
Velkan joins me in the doorway and throws up his hood. “I’ll go with you.”
I turn to Rutane and Phin. “Once Nalkryie gets here to tend to Karad, gather the people and wait for us at the Great Hall. I won’t run or hide from Parthelon anymore. It’s time to tell my people I have returned.”
Velkan and I slip out the door and slink around the side of the building. “Karad’s house is farther down this street on the other side,” I whisper. “Now that it’s light out, there will be Cweltans in the streets. We’ll need to keep our heads down and cross as quickly as possible without engaging anyone.” Heart pounding, I weave my way down the street until we are standing opposite Karad’s house. I watch it from beneath my hood for a couple of minutes, but there’s no sign of anyone moving around inside. “Looks clear,” I mutter to Velkan. “We’ll check the house first just in case. Ready?”
He nods and follows me across the street. We walk nonchalantly up the front steps, push open the door, and slip inside the coolness of the hut. I stall my breathing until I’m sure no one’s coming, and then make my way ca
utiously down the hallway to the sleeping quarters. I peer tentatively inside the room, half-fearing to see a massacre, but the room is empty and the bedding neatly folded. A quick search of the rest of the house reveals nothing untoward.
I nod to Velkan. “All clear. Let’s head out to the shed.”
We slip our hoods back over our heads and make our way around to the lean-to shed at the back of Karad’s house. I push open a half-askew wooden door, cringing when it creaks, and peer around at the cobwebbed barrels. The rushes covering the floor look undisturbed. Karad said to look under the shed. What did he mean by that?
Velkan peers over my shoulder. “Maybe they fled already. I’ll look around outside.” He turns and exits the shed.
I frown at the row of rotting crates stacked one in front of the other at the far end of the shed. Could someone be hiding behind them?
I walk back there to take a closer look. They’re not thickly covered in cobwebs like everything else in here, which makes no sense unless they’ve been disturbed recently. I pull on the closest one and, to my dismay, the entire row topples over. I hurriedly start stacking them back in place, hoping no one heard the commotion.
My heart jolts. On the floor beneath the crates is a trapdoor.
27
“Velkan!” I cry out.
He reappears in the doorway almost instantly. “Sssh! What is it?”
“Karad must have a root cellar down here.” I tug frantically at the wooden handle on the trapdoor, only to be rewarded with a painful splinter.
Velkan drops to his knees beside me and helps me heave the heavy trapdoor open. I sit back on my heels and peer down into the darkness. “Should we call out to them?” I whisper.
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