Song of Leira

by Gillian Bronte Adams

  “Why can’t you just admit it? You’re lost!”

  Ky rolled his eyes. “No. Not lost.” He forced a grin through cracked lips as he turned around. The line of Underground runners trailed away below him, scattered in twos and threes across the mountainside beneath a pale afternoon sky. Slack stood halfway down the line, blocking the way with her hands on her hips, head thrown back and chin thrust out.

  Every inch of her posture read defiance.

  Ky felt a stab of fear in his gut. Not now! Not when they had to be so close to reaching safety. But the way Slack saw it, he was the biggest problem the Underground faced. After all, wasn’t he the one who had convinced them to leave Kerby, dragged them to the bitter north, sought refuge in the direct path of the Khelari army, and now marched them through the wilderness again?

  “Let’s just go,” Meli whispered in his ear, twisting in her perch on his back. Her shifting weight almost threw him off balance again. “Don’t mind her, Ky. She’s just bellyachin’.”

  “Easy, Meli,” he whispered back. He raced to come up with something—anything—that might smooth Slack’s feathers and put off the inevitable confrontation for just a little while longer. “Come on, Slack.” He forced his grin wider, wincing as the cracks split and he tasted blood on his tongue. “You got no need to worry. I know where I am, and I know where we’re going. What more could you ask for?”

  Slack barked that harsh laugh of hers. It never failed to raise the hackles on the back of Ky’s neck and leave his fingers itching for his sling. “Oh, I ain’t worried. But you should be. We’ve been wandering in the wild for weeks now. Hounds surely on our trail. Khelari surely behind them. And we’re no closer to anywhere than we were before. I’m about tired of it, and I ain’t alone.”

  The stragglers had caught up with Slack now and were jammed behind her. Syd, Paddy’s assigned little brother, pushed past and continued toiling up the slope, head hanging and swaying a little with each step. The rest of the runners caught between Ky and Slack stayed where they were, necks craned back to look up at him. A few even sank to the ground and settled in, elbows on their knees, chins in their hands.

  Waiting.

  “This whole mess is your fault.” Slack’s voice rang out loud and clear, echoing against the surrounding slopes. “Never knew when to let well enough alone, did you?”

  That he couldn’t deny.

  “Now look at us!”

  Ky shifted his weight again to accommodate Meli’s wriggling and scanned the runners below. Such a dirty, ragged, weary bunch. Here in the broad expanse of the outside world, far from the crowded streets of Kerby where they knew how to blend in and the dark of the Underground tunnels where they had reigned supreme, he could see just how small and weak they were. But not even Slack knew the full truth of their position. If the Khelari didn’t get them soon, the wild surely would. After a month of traveling, the few supplies they had managed to carry with them when they fled the fall of Siranos had nearly run out. Reaching the Caran’s fortress and the dwarf stronghold of the mountains offered their only hope of safety. He would get the Underground there, whatever the cost.

  Even if it meant kowtowing to Slack to get her on his side.

  He snapped his gaze back to her. “Come up, won’t you? Let’s talk.”

  Slack crossed her arms and planted her feet more firmly where she stood. Though she was too far below for him to say for certain, he could have sworn she grinned. That girl lived for a challenge. “Why don’t you come down?”

  Ky held his ground.

  “Think you’re too big and mighty to stoop?” Slack snorted. “Just look at you. Completely lost. Out of your league. Cade didn’t know what he was doing!”

  And here it was. The sore spot. Didn’t take a genius to know it had been festering for weeks. Ever since that terrible night when Siranos fell, the Underground fled, and Paddy gave himself up to allow Ky to escape. Ever since Aliyah died and Cade up and did the last thing Ky would ever have expected: give up, walk away, and leave Ky in charge in his stead.

  Ky wanted to tell Slack that he hadn’t asked for any of this. That he hadn’t sought out Cade’s responsibilities. Didn’t want them either. That he would have given anything to trade places with Paddy or Aliyah instead of living on with the guilt of their capture and death hanging around his neck. That he wanted Cade to come back, wanted to give the Underground up to him again so he could fulfill his oath to seek Paddy out and rescue him—if he was still alive. But a fellow couldn’t show an ounce of weakness around Slack or she would pounce on it quicker than a hound on a petra and seize control.

  Most likely shake the fellow to death too. Just the way she was.

  So he clamped his mouth around the words, cocked his head back to survey the sun’s position against the peak above, then down to scan the thickets of sage carpeting the slope they climbed, and then on to survey the slopes stretching beyond them for miles and miles until the lines blurred into a hazy blue in the distance.

  “Sure you won’t come up, Slack?”

  “Sure and certain.” The ring of triumph filled her voice, and the sound grated Ky’s nerves. Left them raw and bleeding like the still-­oozing burn on his arm from the ryree explosion at Siranos. She thought she had him cornered. Either he could come down . . . and lose face. Or he could ignore her demands, march on with only half of the runners at his back . . . and lose face. Not to mention half the Underground.

  Either way, she won.

  And either way, he proved himself a weakling instead of a leader.

  Meli tugged on his shoulders, and for half a breath he was tempted to shrug it all aside and simply walk on, let Slack follow if she would. And if not, at least he would be free of her company. Cade might have done it. But if there was one thing he and Slack agreed on, it was that he wasn’t Cade.

  “C’mon! Let’s go.” Meli bounced against his back, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  But Ky pasted a grin on his face, squared his shoulders, and then marched down the slope to meet Slack. Runners shuffled to the side to let him pass, but he kept his gaze fixed ahead. He didn’t want to know if it was disappointment or satisfaction in their eyes. The smug sneer on Slack’s face was enough.

  A few yards away, he eased Meli to the ground. Her forehead wrinkled beneath the wisps of stringy hair that always hung about her face, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

  He gently patted the top of her head. “Wait here, Mel.”

  Slack’s sneer gave way to a broad grin as he descended the last few feet to stand before her and then had to tilt his head back to look her in the eye. Even though he’d maintained his position on the upward slope, she was still taller than him. A fact she clearly enjoyed.

  “Look, Slack, it’s time we talked.” Ky barged ahead before she could speak. He was painfully aware that he still wore that ridiculous, pasted-­­on smile. But if anything could get him through the next minute without full-out war breaking out, it was the grin. “You’ve been talking mighty big. You claim I’m leading us wrong. But I don’t hear you offering any alternatives.”

  “We go back.” Her answer came quickly, apparently primed and readied.

  “Back where? Kerby? Siranos? There’s nothing for us there. We need to move on. Slack, there are bigger things at stake here than us. What do you say we pocket our differences and work together until the Underground is safe?”

  Slack’s hand moved in a blur, and the next thing Ky knew, the chipped blade of her hatchet was pressed against his windpipe. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But you’ve lost, and you know it. This little sham of yours isn’t fooling anyone but yourself.”

  “Well, then.” He forced himself to keep on grinning but dropped his voice until only she could hear. “Reckon I’ll just have to challenge you.”

  “What?” It caught her off guard. She tried to cover it, but he felt the edge of her hatchet slip for an instant. “Don’t be a fool. I’ll crush you.”

  “Accept the
challenge or admit defeat. Cade’s rules. Can’t argue with that.”

  For a split second Ky thought he was a goner. Then she shoved him back, at the same time pulling her hatchet away with just enough of a swipe to leave a stinging cut behind.

  “Terms?”

  “I win, you admit I’m the leader. I lose, the Underground is yours.”

  Slack broke into that harsh laugh of hers, and Ky couldn’t help wincing at the sound. “You have yourself a deal, Shorty! You shouldn’t have challenged me. Cade beat you to a bloody pulp last time, and I intend to finish the job.”

  She lunged toward him.

  Ky bit back a curse and threw up his hands to stop her. “Wait, wait, wait. There’s more!”

  “More?”

  “Sure.” He gulped a breath. “Lots more. You know we can’t fight here. Could have Khelari hounds on our trail. You want to let them catch up with us just so we can have this out?”

  She cocked her head and ran a finger along the blade of her hatchet, inspecting the edge through narrowed eyes. “Reckon your bloody corpse might slow them down. Give the rest of us a chance to escape.”

  That girl was mad. Utterly mad.

  “No, Slack.” He kept his hands raised, ready to fend her off. “This challenge isn’t about who’s the better fighter. It’s about who’s the better leader.”

  “It’s all one and the same!”

  “No, it’s not. Dizzier was a mean fighter, but nobody’d want him leading.” She shrugged at that, and Ky felt a tinge of hope that she was beginning to come around. “Look, you’ve been questioning our path since we left Siranos. I figure why not see if you’re right?”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  And that was the problem.

  “I’m suggesting a different kind of challenge. I’ll fight you whenever you want. Just name the time and place. But not here and now. Not until I see that the Underground is safe.”

  “If you don’t mean to fight me, Shorty, then what in Delian’s name are you getting at?”

  Ky selected his words carefully. He had one chance. One chance to draw her in. “I say that this is the way to the Caran’s fortress. You say that I’m wrong. Give me three days. If I can’t prove I’m right by then . . . you win.”

  “Three days?” Slack spun her hatchet in the air, caught it again, then shoved it through her belt. “Forget it. You notice I’m not wearing a dunce’s cap? That’s because this ain’t a game of Fool’s Dice, Ky, and I ain’t about to be taken in.”

  That was it, then.

  Ky sucked chilled mountain air into his lungs and only then realized he had been holding his breath. He should have known Slack wouldn’t go for it. Just wasn’t her way. But he had hoped. And maybe she was right. Maybe that did make him a fool. Past her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the pale, dirt-streaked faces of his Underground brothers and sisters. They were worn, weary, and afraid. They needed a strong leader. And he could be one for them, if Slack would let him.

  Let him. Cade would have scoffed at the notion. Cade had always refused to bend, and Ky had seen it as a backward kind of weakness. A sign of a fear of losing control. But maybe it had been a kind of strength too. Strength to do what was needed regardless of the cost. Regardless of what others thought.

  “Not three days.”

  Ky started and his gaze jumped back to Slack. She was smirking at him again. “What?”

  “You asked for three days. I’ll give you one.”

  “Two.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Shorty. One is generous. Take it or leave it.”

  For a second Ky matched her gaze, anger burning in his chest. Toe to toe and chin to chin they stood, both with shoulders back and hands straying near their weapons. Then, high above and far off, Ky heard the shrill scream of a hawk rising on the wind, and the utter ridiculousness of the situation struck him. Nothing but idle posturing. He’d sworn not to fight her here, and they’d been standing still too long already. One of them would have to budge eventually, and Ky knew it wouldn’t be Slack.

  He swallowed his anger, shrugged, and then backed away to where Meli sat and offered his hand to help her to her feet. Slack just stood there. When she caught him looking at her, she tossed her head, flipping both braids over her shoulder, and squinted one eye at him.

  “Delian’s fist, but you’re a strange one. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

  Once more he set his face toward the upward slope and began the weary climb to the front of the line. Slack settled in at his heels, trading grins and boisterous jests with the runners they passed. Must be the prospect of beating him that improved her mood. So long as it kept her moving, he wouldn’t begrudge it. As it was, her presence spurred him on despite his aching limbs. It kept the challenge fixed firmly at the forefront of his mind.

  Time was wasting.

  Cade would have pushed for more. But then, most likely, he would have just fought Slack and been done with it. No, one day was the most Ky could hope for. One day to prove he was on the right track. One day to show himself worthy of the trust he had received. One day to find the Caran’s fortress and see the runners to safety.

  On the crest of the grade, Ky halted to catch his breath. Syd waited there. The boy blinked up at him, pale hair drooping over his wide eyes, and pointed ahead. There was a question in the shrug of his shoulders. Some of the other runners acted like Syd was dull witted, just because he didn’t talk and he moved so slowly. Paddy had never stood for it. Brothers were meant to protect one another, Paddy had claimed before throwing an arm over Ky’s shoulder and pronouncing him the truest brother he ever had—truer even than the three older brothers he had lost when the dark soldiers took Kerby.

  But if protection was the measure of a brother, then Ky reckoned he had failed. He had saved Meli. But he had allowed Paddy to be taken.

  Syd tugged at his arm, and Ky reached down to pat his shoulder. He didn’t have time for guilt. He had bigger responsibilities now than ever. All of the Underground were his brothers and sisters. He had to keep them safe. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the blued slopes stretching into the distance on all sides. He was no woodsman. To his untrained eye, one slope looked like another. Born and raised in Kerby—city streets he knew. But mountains? How could he lead where he had no experience?

  “Oi, Shorty.” Slack sidled up beside him and bobbed from one foot to the other, a sly grin playing on her lips. The fact that the girl still had energy to spare for a taunt was a wonder to him. “Still not lost?”

  “Not lost.” Ky ducked his head to hide the lie in his eyes and trudged down the shallow valley between the slopes. And the Underground followed. Emhran help him, they followed.

  Truth was he had been lost since they left Siranos.

  3

  Too late . . . Too late . . .

  The words whispered in the back of Birdie’s mind as she toiled up the mountainside at Gundhrold’s heels, axe slung over one shoulder and back bent with the effort of the climb, and she did not try to deny them. They bore the ring of truth. Just one more push, the griffin had said, one more push to reach the peak, and then they would be able to see the Caran’s fortress on the opposite bluff.

  Mighty Cadel-Gidhar, last stronghold of the dwarves and ancient pride of the Whyndburg Mountains. A marvel of design that the finest Xanthen architects could be proud of, a fortress that the weakest Adulnae warrior could not fail to defend against whatever force the Khelari might bring against it. It had been built ages ago from enormous blocks carved and placed with such precision that one could scarcely determine the line between one stone and the next. The seams themselves had been reinforced with iron bands, while the gates were fashioned from iron-plated stone.

  So the griffin said.

  But still Birdie dreaded what they would see when they arrived. The fortress walls torn asunder, perhaps. Khelari swarming the streets, slain Adulnae piled in heaps in the valley below, and captives herded like sheep to their d
oom. The thought drifted toward her like a tendril of music, and just as swiftly she banished it. Until now she had tried to ignore the force of the dark melody battering at her senses, but it could no longer be quelled. The strength of a thousand voices clamored in her ears, demanding to be heard. Her steps slowed, and she clenched a hand to her forehead to ease the pressure building inside her skull.

  “Are you well, little one?” Gundhrold’s rough voice dispelled the din.

  Her vision cleared.

  Only then did she realize that she had come to a halt on the rock-strewn slope beneath a silvered evening sky, with heather and bramblebriars grasping at her knees and stunted hallorm trees rising on all sides like the shattered spears and broken limbs of the slain. The griffin had paused above her and craned his neck around, birdlike, to look back over his folded wings. The concern in his gaze offered a chance to rest, but she could read his urgency in the tautness of his limbs and the hard set of his beak.

  “Only a breath, little one. We cannot delay long.”

  She shook her head, too weary to argue, and tightened her grip on the axe haft. The bulky weapon dug into her shoulder and left the muscles aching. “Delay means nothing now, Gundhrold. We are already too late.”

  As always, Gundhrold’s gaze pierced her, but he did not tarry to question or demand an explanation. A simple jerk of his feathered head, and the griffin began the upward climb again. But he moved with more caution now, taking her at her word. Trusting her.

  She was grateful for that.

  For a moment she stood there, watching as the griffin hefted his bulky form across the uneven ground, moving with that odd sense of grace and power that made each step as deliberate as a dance. At the top he hunkered down and crawled forward, then beckoned to her with his good wing. Birdie shrugged the axe into a less uncomfortable position on her shoulder and trudged after him.