“Kal?” Janner said.
Kalmar stood upright again. He blinked and looked at Janner and Oood in confusion. His eyes changed back to their normal blue. “Mmff,” he said. Then he realized there was something in his mouth and he spat it out. When he saw the snowfox at his feet, he jumped back with revulsion, wiping at his mouth. “What—what happened?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Janner said warily, edging back down into the ravine.
“Bad Fang,” Oood said. The troll stepped between Janner and Kal.
Kalmar closed his eyes and nodded his head. “Bad Fang.”
Janner hated the pause that followed. He wanted to fill it with encouraging words, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He knew that Kal had lapsed into . . . Fangishness . . . when he’d fed Esben in the cave, and when he fought Grigory Bunge, and when Janner had found him at the chicken coop. And he knew that Uncle Artham still went a little crazy from time to time. But this seemed something deeper and more dangerous. “How long has this been happening?”
“Ever since I changed—ever since I sang that song like a coward, it’s been getting worse.” Kal clenched his fists. “I screwed everything up, Janner. I’m supposed to be a king, but I’m a monster.” Kal scraped at the fur on his arms, as if it were a costume he could remove. “And I can’t stop it. No matter how I try to be good. No matter how I try to be what everybody wants me to be. I want to—I really do—but in the end I’m still a monster. And Janner,” Kal said with tears in his eyes. “I think it’s getting worse. I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone. That’s why I have to try and stop Gnag while I still can. Because I’m running out of time.”
Janner wanted to hug his brother and tell him it would be all right, but he didn’t want to lie. He didn’t know if it would be all right. He had seen the yellow eyes, the bared teeth—Kalmar was still Kalmar, but there was something else in him too, something that ran deep and dark, and Janner didn’t know how to rid him of it.
He imagined what might happen if they went back to Ban Rona and Kal hurt Leeli or Nia, and he understood why Kal didn’t want to go back. He also wondered what would happen if Kalmar attackedhim. It had happened once, on theEnramere, and Janner had the scars to prove it. But he was the Throne Warden, and though he was afraid, he knew what he had to do. He knew what Artham and Nia and Esben would want him to do.
“I guess we’d better find Gnag.” Janner put his hand on Kal’s furry shoulder. “We’ll keep to the plan. Get into Throg. Find Gnag. And then we’ll figure out how to heal you.”
“Do you really think—?” Kal said, looking hopefully into Janner’s eyes.
“Ships and Sharks. There’s always a way out.” Janner looked away before Kal could see how unsure he really was. “Oood?”
The troll grunted.
“Kalmar isnot a bad Fang. He wants to be good. Right?”
“He forget to be good sometimes?” Oood asked.
Kalmar chuckled and wiped his nose. “Yeah, that’s it. I forget.”
“Me too,” said Oood with a smile.
“Then I’ll help you remember,” Janner said to Kalmar. “What’s your name?”
Kal winced and bowed his head, as if the words caused him pain. “My name is Kalmar Wingfeather, son of Esben Wingfeather.”
“High King of Anniera,” Janner said.
“High King of Anniera.”
“Now let’s get to the Blackwood.”
22
Leeli’s Secret Weapon
Leeli struggled, but the Bat Fang’s grip was strong. Then she stopped squirming, having realized that if she broke free it would mean a quick plummet to her death. But she couldn’t let the Fang carry her off to Throg without doingsomething.
She forced herself to breathe slowly and tried not to think about all the empty space between her and the ground. She saw Ban Rona’s rooftops rising from a field of white. Arrows shot out of the mist, some of them so close that the Bat Fang lurched to dodge them. Leeli didn’t want to be hit by her own people, so she decided to let them know where she was.
She held the whistleharp to her lips and played the first notes of the worst, shakiest rendition of “Fellyn the Fair” she had ever played. The Bat Fang screeched at her and tumbled earthward briefly before regaining its height. Leeli closed her eyes, pushed back at her fear, and played again, this time making it through the first verse without faltering.
“Quiet, girl!” the Fang squealed. It shook its hideous head and flew in an erratic course that drifted downward, downward, toward an enormous tree that reached out of the fog as if it wanted to catch Leeli. She played louder, gaining courage with every note. The more beautiful the melody, the angrier the Bat Fang became, and the lighter its grip, until at last, as they lurched over the tree, Leeli twisted her shoulders and fell free of the claws.
The Bat Fang shrieked and dove for her. Its mouth was open so wide that its face seemed to be all teeth and tongue—and it was the last thing Leeli saw before she slammed into a fat limb and lost all her breath. She gasped for air and clung to whatever she could. Branches snapped off in her hands and scratched her palms as she tumbled through the boughs of the tree. She doubled over a strong limb and came to a stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her lungs slowly opened enough for her to gasp.
Panting, Leeli flexed her fingers and kicked her legs to be sure nothing was broken, then looked around in terror at the foggy white mist that enveloped her. From below her came sounds of fighting: screams, steel on steel, growls from Grey Fangs, and cries of defiance from Hollish warriors. Above her there was an airy silence broken only by the flapping of wings and occasional screeches. She was far from safe, but she was invisible for the moment, and except for a few scratches and bruises, she was uninjured.
“Where is the girl?” said one of the bats overhead.
“I lost her, commander,” answered another. “The brat still has the noisy thing.”
“The whistleharp?” sneered the first voice.
“Yes, commander. It hurt.”
“Yes, I heard it too. Find her. And this time, rid her of the weapon.”
Weapon? Leeli looked at her whistleharp. She had never thought of it that way, but her little instrument was the only reason she wasn’t halfway to Throg. She clutched it to her chest.
“Yes, sir,” answered the bat. A gust of wind churned the fog, and Leeli saw, among the Fangs wheeling overhead, the flapping silhouette of the one who spoke. “I’ll crush it to pieces. She can’t be far.”
Then the fog thickened again and she began a mad scramble toward the ground.
As Leeli reached the lower branches, the street below materialized out of the mist, and she saw figures running to and fro. Hollowsfolk. Leeli breathed a sigh of relief.
“Excuse me,” she said as a detail of warriors tromped by. No one heard her. Four more men trotted past—weapons drawn, grim-faced. “Help!” she called out.
One of the men looked up and recognized her. “Come down, Your Highneth! Quickly!”
Leeli dangled from the branch and dropped into his arms.
He smiled at her with a dirty, bearded face. He was missing one of his front teeth. “Thorry. Got punthed by a Grey Fang, and lotht my pretty thmile. Word came that you had been taken. Praithe the Maker, I’m glad you’re thafe.” He turned to the other men. “Go on, brotherth. I’ll get her back to the library. For the Hillth and the Hollowth!”
“Oy!” they grunted, and they pushed on toward the battle.
“My name’th Ladnar G’noll,” the man said as he shifted Leeli onto his back. “Hold on tight, now.” He hunched over, drew his sword, and dashed back the way he had come, shouting, “I have the printheth! Make way!”
As Ladnar raced through the foggy streets, Hollowsfolk cheered. Leeli had always imagined battles were long, drawn-out affairs, but this one had seemed to last only an instant—more of a passing thunderstorm than a steady rain. She knew from the shouting that somewhere the battle still raged, but here it had passed through lik
e a storm wind, and the shattered windows and broken doors mirrored the broken and wounded warriors that littered the way. The only visible evidence of Fangs was the brown dust and armor littering the streets. But before long, the fog thinned and the sun shone through, illuminating the full measure of the day’s destruction.
At last, Ladnar reached the Great Library and burst through the front door. He tried to catch his breath as he eased Leeli to the floor and spoke to a Durgan on guard. “Thpread the word. I have the Maiden.”
Leeli nearly wept at the sound of jubilation that echoed through the library at the news. Nia and Podo rushed down the main stairs with arms outstretched and lifted Leeli into an embrace.
Nia looked her in the eye. “You’re all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Are we winning?”
“No, lass,” Podo said.
Nia sighed. “I fear Ban Rona may be lost. We’re making plans to retreat. The Gray Fangs were driven back to the north side of the city, but the Bat Fangs are still on the roof. Too many of them. We’re running out of arrows, and they just keep coming. Gnag has been busy. I was certain you were lost. How did you escape?”
“With my weapon,” Leeli answered, holding up the whistleharp. “Mama, I think we can beat the Bat Fangs.”
“In the words of Badly Bunsome, ‘How?’” said Oskar as he arrived with the First Book under one arm.
“Take me to the roof.”
“That’s my girl,” Podo said, giving Leeli her crutch. “Make way for Batwhacker!”
They raced up the winding library stairs, past books and wounded Hollowsfolk, past the librarian who drifted in and out of the shadows offering help to whomever needed it, and to the door that led to the roof. Several guards, including Danniby and Rudric, held it shut against the pounding of Bat Fangs outside.
“Leeli! I’m glad you’re safe,” Rudric said with a weary smile as she approached the door. “What are you doing?”
“Fighting back,” Leeli said. Something in her voice kept them from asking further questions, and the big men parted so she could stand in front of the door. She took a deep breath and played “Bog of the Bark Owl” with all the emotion she could muster. The pounding on the door ceased, and after a pause the Bat Fangs outside loosed a chilling screech.
Rudric smiled grimly. “Thank the Maker for the Jewels of Anniera,” he said, drawing his warhammer from his belt. “Play on, girl.”
Rudric threw open the door and rushed into the sunlight. Danniby and a stream of Hollish warriors followed. Leeli and Podo stepped onto the roof and beheld the blue sky and bright sun, and Leeli’s music poured into the air over Ban Rona.
The mist burned away and the Bat Fangs scattered before the song as if a terrible wind drove them.
23
The Batwhacker of Ban Rona
Leeli was surrounded by armed men and women, all with their backs to her. The air was fraught with the smells of sweat and fire, the sounds of war and striving. She leaned on her crutch and played, dreading the end of every tune because whenever the music stopped the Bat Fangs fought harder.
Thorn O’Sally later said that from the Guildling Hall it appeared as if the roof of the Great Library had vanished in a cloud of wings. He said that the music seemed to draw the Fangs—“like how you grab yer leg when it’s bit by a dog”—as if the enemy knew the battle was lost if they couldn’t stop the Song Maiden.
Leeli played for hours. She stood in the center of that bladed, bellowing ring of Hollish protection and played every song she knew. Nia knelt beside her, one arm around her waist, speaking words of encouragement all the while. Leeli’s lips and fingers grew numb, and when her legs gave out after an hour, Nia eased her to the ground and yelled for water. Leeli was desperately thirsty but she didn’t want to stop playing long enough to drink.
She heard Rudric above all the others, shouting defiance at the winged army and rousing his people to fight on. Elsewhere in the city, Grey Fangs broke away and rushed toward the song. The Hollowsfolk pursued until the fighting on the ground as well as in the air was centered on the Great Library.
“Play on, Leeli!” Rudric shouted, and on she played, until tears rolled down her cheeks and her lips were chapped to bleeding. She fell into a trance, her fingers plucking strings and drumming the whistleharp’s holes for so long that she hardly knew what she was playing anymore. “Topper’s Reel,” Nia would say, and even if she had played it five times Leeli played it again, though with each repetition the song lost some of its effectiveness.
More than once throughout the day the song connected Leeli with her brothers, and each time she became more aware that it wasn’t just Janner and Kalmar in her head, but also that other, brooding presence, the face she couldn’t quite see, but which she knew saw her. She shut her eyes and tried to shake the darkness from her mind to no avail. The thing watched her as she played. Her brothers seemed to sense it too, and she came to dread the magic when it came. It exposed her to that other spirit, whom she believed was Gnag the Nameless. The last time it happened, his dark eyes floated from corner of her mind to the center and grew as big as the world—leering, hungering, sinister.
Leeli’s hands slipped from the whistleharp, and she felt her insides quiver with exhaustion.No! her heart cried, and with the last dregs of her will she held to consciousness and renewed her melody. She forced herself to look back at those eyes, to defy them, and she gained a trickle of joyous strength when they shrank back. She heard Podo’s raspy growl nearby: “Take that, ye bug eater! And that!”
Then she heard cries of triumph—Rudric’s voice roared with an exuberance born of hard won victory. The warriors surrounding her moved away and she felt the welcome flush of sunlight just before she crumpled into her mother’s arms. When she found the strength to open her eyes, she saw, as if in a dream, the exhausted yet happy faces of Hollish men and women cheering.
“Is it over?” Leeli murmured.
“Yes, my brave girl. It’s over.” Nia kissed Leeli on the forehead and held her tightly. “They’ve taken to the skies and the sea. Ban Rona stands.”
Leeli felt Podo’s strong old arms lift her. She felt the familiar bristle of his whiskers against her forehead and the warm musk of his pipe as he carried her from the roof into the warm dimness of the library. The glad shouts faded, and in the halls of the library she saw many Hollowsfolk, both wounded and hale, watching her as she passed. Their eyes were wide with wonder, and they whispered to one another.
By the time Podo bore her down the stairs and out the front doors, the shouts had died away. Throngs of Durgans, clansmen, sword maidens, and chiefs gathered on the war-torn street and watched as Podo lifted her into the first wagon he saw. A boy handed the old man the reins as Nia and Oskar climbed on.
“Hail Leeli!” someone shouted, and as the wagon rolled up the street and away from the Great Library, every soul in the city took up the cry, “For the Hills and the Hollows and the Shining Isle!”
Leeli smiled with the last of her strength, then fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke, she was in her bedroom at Chimney Hill. A single candle burned on the nightstand. She smelled cheesy chowder and bacon, and saw Nia asleep in the chair beside her.
“Mama?” she whispered. Her lips hurt when she spoke. Nia stirred and smiled. Leeli wanted to smile back, but she couldn’t. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes and she began to tremble.
She had been dreaming of Gnag the Nameless.
24
Visitors at Chimney Hill
“What did you see?” Nia asked.
Leeli wasn’t sure where to begin. She was still so tired, and her lips were so cracked and swollen that speaking at all was a great effort. She adjusted her pillow and sat up straighter, then winced as she sipped henmeat broth from a wooden spoon.
“I saw Janner and Kal.”
“Where are they? Are they safe?”
“Yes—and no. I think. They were with someone else. Or something else.” Leeli shook her head, frustrat
ed that she couldn’t be more specific. “They were near the Blackwood, but they didn’t seem hurt.”
Nia was silent as she spooned more broth into Leeli’s mouth. “Are they coming home?”
“No. They’re going into the forest.”
“What? Why?” Nia straightened, as she always did when she was afraid.
“They’re going to Throg.” Leeli fussed with the covers and averted her eyes. “To find Gnag.” When Nia said nothing, she went on, “I think Kal is changing.”
“What do you mean, ‘changing’?”
“His eyes. They had yellow spots in them. He’s afraid he’ll go crazy again, like Uncle Artham, so he’s going to Throg to find Gnag.”
“Fools,” Nia said under her breath. “They can’t just defeat Gnag. If it was that easy, someone would have done it already. They don’t even know what he is.”
“We know he’s human. Bonifer said so, remember?”
“But what if he’s changed too? What if he’s melded himself with something? What if he’s just another kind of Fang? He’s been trying to get you three to Throg all this time, and now they think they can just show up and fight him? They can’t do this.”
“It’s too late. They’re going, and Janner asked me to tell you to trust him. He said he had to protect Kal and this was the best way to do it. Kal was going, with or without him, and Janner’s the Throne Warden. What else could he do?”
Nia sighed and leaned back in her chair, showing her weariness at last. She stared at the ceiling, thinking hard, perhaps pleading silently with the Maker.
“Mama?”
Nia looked at Leeli, her eyes heavy with grief. “My girl, you were magnificent today. Ban Rona would have fallen without you. But my sons!” Nia’s voice broke, and she paused to regain her composure. “Why must the Maker try a mother’s heart? I lost my land, my people, my husband—I lost himtwice. I cannot bear to lose my sons. Do you understand?”
The Warden and the Wolf King Page 11
