The Warden and the Wolf King

by Andrew Peterson

  Davion drew a long breath and exhaled a rattling sigh. He didn’t seem to know where he was, or what had happened, but Janner felt his thoughts.

  My name is Davion Wingfeather, Son of Madia and Ortham. My name is Davion Wingfeather, and I am dying. My name is Davion Wingfeather, and I am sorry. My name is Davion Wingfeather, and I was loved.

  Without a shudder, without a convulsion or a single twitch, his last breath seeped from his lungs and he died. Gnag’s body turned gray and crackled, then a gust of wind sent clouds of his ashes billowing over the hills. He was gone.

  Janner, Kalmar, and Leeli felt a mighty grief—grief that Bonifer’s lies had created such a monster out of the boy Madia had loved, and for all the evil those lies had loosed on the world.

  How many thousands had died because of Gnag’s hatred and pain? Janner thought of the Annierans who fell in the invasion, the terror of all the Skreeans kidnapped and killed and melded, the death of so many Hollowsfolk on this day and every day since the war began. But despite all the destruction, Janner now felt more pity for Gnag than anger.

  “Children,” said Nia. She knelt and stretched out her arms. They sank into her embrace. As she cried, the promise of the coming peace dawned in Janner’s heart and he cried with her. All that was left of the Wingfeather family sat in the mud, a pitiful but joyous sight.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s little time,” Oskar said as he removed his spectacles and wiped his nose. “It’s Rudric.”

  Nia brushed herself off and climbed to her feet. “Where is he? What’s wrong?”

  Oskar led her through a somber throng of Hollowsfolk and cloven. The Keeper of the Hollows lay on his side among the slain, struggling to breathe. A Fang sword protruded from his back, along with seven ridgerunner arrows.

  Rudric’s face was pallid as he stared into the empty air. “Nia,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  She sat beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. His bleeding wounds and the weapons lodged in his body arrayed him with glory. He had defended his city, his country, and his kin to the last, and lived to see the dawn of restoration. His body was limp as a rag, but his right fist was yet clenched on the hilt of his warhammer.

  “Let go,” Nia said, peeling back his fingers with great care. The hammer slipped to the mud. “Your people are safe.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Esben—”

  “All is forgiven, my love,” Nia whispered.

  Rudric closed his eyes. Nia placed a lingering kiss on his forehead, and when she drew back, he had passed through the veil to the welcoming song of his fathers at the Maker’s Feast.

  When Janner turned away from Nia’s anguished face, the tragedy of war settled on his heart. Everywhere he looked, the fallen lay. They had given their lives, so there was a kind of beauty in it, but that beauty was only a blanket over a mountain of sorrow. There were slain cloven. Dogs nestled, breathless and still, against the bodies of their masters. There were dead ridgerunners, too. A lament rose to the heavens as the survivors mourned.

  “Baxter!” Leeli knelt as the big dog ran her way. He slammed into her and she toppled backward as the dog licked her face and ears. She sat up and click-whistled something to him. The dog barked and bolted away.

  “Where’s he going?” Thorn O’Sally asked as he made his way through the crowd.

  “Thorn!” Leeli pulled herself to her feet and jumped into his arms. Now it was Thorn who toppled backward with Leeli on top of him. She blushed and stood up, brushing off the front of her muddy dress. “Sorry. Baxter’s, um, going to round up the other dogs to help with houndricks. We need to get the wounded to Ban Rona.”

  Thorn cleared his throat, too embarrassed to look her in the eye.

  Leeli twirled her hair. “I’m glad you’re safe. Where’s your dad? And Kelvey?”

  “They’re all right.” He pointed to Kelvey and Biggin, tending to two wounded dogs. “Hurt, but not real bad.”

  After the shock of Gnag’s death passed, the survivors busied themselves with the wounded. With Rudric dead, the Hollowsfolk were leaderless and unsure of how to proceed. Nia gave orders, and soon the Field of Finley was a bustle of activity. Hollish warriors tended humans and cloven alike, and soon Oood and the able cloven joined them, carrying the maimed to houndricks or administering water. Janner was amazed to see how readily the Hollowsfolk accepted help from the cloven when only months ago they were ready to destroy any that crossed their borders.

  Across the field, Hulwen groaned, rolled to her feet, and made straight for the other dragons. Of the seven, four were dead and the rest were injured. They spoke with one another using grunts and hums and huffs of air, nosing one another’s wings with admiration as they flexed their new legs. Their musical speech was a welcome sound after the cacophony of battle. It quieted, however, when Hulwen directed them to help her move the slain dragons to the center of the field.

  Guildmaster Clout and Olumphia Groundwich were among the survivors, as were Nibbick and Grigory Bunge. Danniby and many of the guildmasters and guildmistresses had lost their lives in defense of the Guildling Hall and the Great Library. Many of the guildlings had been protected from the worst of the fighting, however, so there were happy reunions, too. In all, Oskar reported that there were four hundred and sixty-two survivors, though that number dropped as the hours passed and wounds claimed more casualties.

  Oood helped gather the wounded, but his odor was so severe that he sent many of the warriors into coughing fits. “Oood,” Janner said as he trotted over. “How about taking a rest? I want you to meet my family.”

  At the word “family,” Oood’s face fell, then he grunted and followed Janner to Nia and the others.

  “Mama, this is my friend Oood, a son of a poet from the Jungles of Plontst. He saved Kal and me in the Blackwood.”

  Without hesitation Nia embraced the smelly beast and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek. “Thank you for taking care of my sons. I’m in your debt.”

  Oood’s callous, warty cheeks turned red as apples and he grinned so wide that his eyes disappeared. Leeli giggled and Kalmar patted Oood’s shoulder.

  “Janner and Kal save Oood, too,” he said with a bashful shrug. He played with his bellybutton absentmindedly and looked at the ground. “Oood think Janner’s mama pretty lady.”

  Nia smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure your mother is pretty, too.”

  Oood’s eyes twinkled and he nodded eagerly. “Oood’s mama SO pretty, like a pile of grkkle smeegs.” His face fell again. “Oood miss his mama and papa. Want to go home now.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Kalmar said. “I’m sure they miss you.”

  “Come to Oood’s house in Glagron someday?” Oood asked. “Show you trees and castle and lobe the ocky vabs! Read poems!”

  The Wingfeathers laughed and agreed that a visit would be nice.

  Oood took a deep breath and looked around at the carnage. “Stay and help?”

  “You’ve helped so much already,” Janner said. “You can go home now. Gnag can’t stop you. Tell your people not to smash us if we visit the Jungles of Plontst.”

  Oood grew serious and tapped the side of his head. “Good think.Very good think. Trolls smash boys they don’t know.” He held one finger in the air. “No worry! Oood’s papa write poem about boy and wolf boy and GREAT battle. Make trolls everywhere love you.”

  The young troll looked around for his toothy cow, but someone—either Hollish or Fang—had slain it during the battle, which was a good thing. Without Oood to tame it, there was no telling how many people the beast might have chewed. Oood bade them farewell and set off in a jog toward the mountains, thethud-thud-thud of his footsteps fading slowly away into the great silence of the hills.

  “He came to us after you entered the Deeps,” said Elder Cadwick, cantering toward them with a hogpig woman and the backwards bear at his side. Cadwick’s arm rested in a makeshift sling. Janner gasped when he saw fo
ur ridgerunner arrows protruding from his flanks. When he saw Janner’s expression, Cadwick waved his good hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Mother Mungry will tend to me soon enough.”

  Only then did Janner spot her bustling from warrior to warrior, fussing over their wounds but clearly more concerned with their feet than anything else. Her tail-hand scrabbled along behind her, which caused the Hollowsfolk to cringe.

  “How did you know to come?” Kalmar asked.

  “Oood returned, stronger than ever, which was a great mystery until he showed us the water he had recovered from the First Well. The next day our Pleaders spotted a multitude of ridgerunners and Fangs pouring out of the mountains, marching straight for Ban Rona. The troll boy convinced our queen to send us. She had already heard rumor from the spring birds and the earth itself that a great battle was coming.” Cadwick took a deep breath and smiled. “I had forgotten how beautiful is the open sky over these hills.”

  “We thank you,” Nia said.

  “Of course, Your Highness,” Cadwick answered with a bow. “You are as beautiful as I remembered. I was a blacksmith in the village of Pennybridge and met you and your mother Wendolyn once.”

  Before Nia recovered from her surprise, Mother Mungry bustled over and set to work on Cadwick’s wounds. “Pennybridge?” Nia asked.

  “Shoo!” Mother Mungry said. “Can’t you see his foot is likely wounded?” Janner didn’t bother to mention that Cadwick had hooves, not feet. “And these arrows!” Mother Mungry put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Much work to be done on this one. If you’re not either hurt or healing, it’s best to stay out of the way, Your Highness. No disrespect intended.”

  Wincing, Cadwick knelt and muttered an apology to the Wingfeathers as Mother Mungry’s hands (including her tail-hand) spidered across Cadwick’s side to inspect his injuries. Kalmar yawned, which caused Janner and Leeli to yawn in turn. Janner couldn’t remember the last time he had slept.

  “She’s right,” Nia said to the children. “The day is fading and we’re little help here.”

  The Wingfeathers and Oskar walked back to Ban Rona, but not to Chimney Hill. It was gone, Nia told the boys, burned to the ground along with hundreds of other homes and buildings. The city was all but leveled, first from the war and then the great storm and the Gnag-Dragon, but they found enough remaining shelter to house the living.

  That evening as the last Hollish warrior on the field (a man named Paddy Durbin Thistlefoot) surveyed the scene from the crest of the hill, he saw the silent heaps of Hollish, cloven, and ridgerunner bodies at the center, and off to the south the dusty remains of the monster that had tried to destroy the world. He shook his head at the senselessness of it all, then trudged home in the dusk behind the others.

  “Oy, Lennry!” he called to a man in the rear, helping to carry a wounded woman on a litter. “What was that thing’s name again?”

  “Gnag?”

  “No, hisreal name. The one the Wingfeather kids told ’im.”

  Lennry Greensmith thought about it, then shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

  “Me neither,” said Paddy. “Let’s go get some bibes.”

  86

  Murgah and the Stone

  The Wingfeathers and Oskar N. Reteep sheltered that night in what was left of the Orchard Inn. The proprietor was gone, and most of the building was gone, but there were two rooms left standing, one of which was the dining room where they had eaten on their first night in the Hollows, months before—the same room, in fact, where Janner had first met Bonifer Squoon. They swept the broken glass from the floors, gathered the driest blankets they could find, and hunkered down by the light of a candle.

  Oskar lit a pipe, the scent of which made them think of Podo. Nia told the children of Podo’s heroism, how none of them would have survived if he hadn’t roused the dragons out of the water to fight. They all grieved for him, but the grief quickly led to the joy of remembrance, in which they told stories about him and laughed even harder than they had wept. Podo had been old, and he hated being old. “He wanted to die with his boot on,” Nia said.

  Then Janner and Kalmar told everyone about their adventures in the Blackwood, and Clovenfast, and about Arundelle the Cloven Queen who had sent Cadwick and the cloven to help. Nia broke into a smile when they mentioned her, because Arundelle was well known by the Wingfeathers. Everyone in the royal court knew that Arundelle and Artham loved one another, Nia said, though the couple thought their affection was a secret. “Most of the women in Anniera had their eyes on him in those days, but his heart was set on Arundelle.” Nia shook her head with wonder. “So you’re telling me some of the cloven areAnnieran?”

  “That’s what Cadwick and Arundelle told us,” Janner answered. “They seemed to understand who our father was, at least.”

  “They remember, then?” Oskar asked.

  “That’s the problem,” Kalmar said. “The remembering drives them kind of crazy. Like Uncle Artham, only worse.”

  Uncle Artham. Where was he? Janner missed him especially, but until someone sailed to Skree or Artham sailed to the Hollows, there was no way to know what had become of him. Sara Cobbler’s face floated into Janner’s mind, but he didn’t mention it.

  When the boys described Throg, the prisoners there, and the death of Bonifer Squoon, Nia and Oskar listened in grave silence.

  “They’re still there,” Kalmar said. “All those people. Still in the dungeon, and in that castle. What do we do?”

  “We’ll do something,” Nia said. “But not tonight. We need to rest.”

  “I’m sorry about Chimney Hill, Mama,” Leeli said.

  “Me too.” Nia pulled the covers up to Leeli’s chin.

  “We’ll rebuild it, right?” Leeli said sleepily.

  Nia smiled. “Even better than before.”

  Janner felt his eyes drooping. He yawned. “And this time I want my own room. Full of books.”

  “I can help with that,” Oskar said.

  “That’s not going to happen.” Kalmar didn’t sound sleepy at all. He was lying on his back with his hands folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. Janner had seen that look on his brother’s face before, whenever he was thinking about a drawing or something he wanted to build. “We’re not going back to Chimney Hill.”

  Janner sat up. “Why not?”

  “Because,” Kalmar said, “we already have a home.”

  Everyone knew what he meant, but no one said a word.

  The next morning was the warmest yet that spring. The sky was wide and high and blue with the breezy promise of new life. The rubble of Ban Rona was a terrible thing to see, but it didn’t seem as insurmountable as it had the night before.

  The children emerged from the Orchard Inn and heard the sound of singing echoing up the streets. The Wingfeathers and Oskar walked toward the center of town and discovered a group Hollowsfolk in a work line, passing broken timbers into a bonfire as another group sifted through fallen buildings and separated reusable wood from Fang armor and weapons.

  The aroma of hot food drifted through the air, and Kalmar veered toward its source without waiting for the others. Janner’s stomach growled, and he tried not to think about the last time he had eaten. The only thing he wanted in his head was the present and the future—the morning was too beautiful for bad memories.

  He found Kalmar in a line of Hollish children waiting to be served plonkfish stew from a tent. Olumphia Groundwich stood behind the table, ladling soup into bowls and shooing the children away to eat in the street outside.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said with a quick smile as Nia greeted her with a hug. Three more whiskers had sprung up since Janner had last seen her. “The sun came up today, thank the Maker.”

  Olumphia let the Wingfeathers sit behind the table, where they gobbled up their food without a care for their manners, and for once, Nia allowed it.

  Janner wiped his mouth and looked around. “Where are all the cloven?”

  “T
hey left in the night,” said a voice behind them. Guildmaster Clout walked in with one arm wrapped in a bandage. “No one knows why.” He stepped around the table and kissed Olumphia on the cheek. “Hello, my lovely.”

  “Not here, you clubbard!” Olumphia swung the ladle at him. “Out!”

  “As you wish, my bumpkin nibblet.” He turned his attention to the children and resumed his gruff manner. “The cloven were a bit creepy for our tastes anyway. Few of them could speak, and they all stank like sod liver. Without that Cadwick fellow around, I feared they might go wild and hurt someone.”

  “Out!” Olumphia said again.

  “My squeezle wants me to scram. I’ll see you guildlings later.” Clout stopped before he ducked out of the tent. “I almost forgot. The she-dragon has been loitering about at the quayside. Seems she might want to see you three. It’s hard to tell.” He blew a kiss at Olumphia and she answered by hurling a spoon at him.

  “I’m glad you two are finally on speaking terms,” Nia said to her friend.

  “Oy. I liked him better when he ignored me.”

  When they had finished eating, the Wingfeathers went to find Hulwen. The streets were mostly empty, and the structures were mostly flattened, but the sky was so clear that it was impossible not to feel hopeful. Every broken building represented a restoration that was already underway. As they neared the waterfront, Hulwen emerged from the sea and bowed her head.

  The Stone Keepers are leaving, Hulwen said, and Janner told the others.

  They have the stone.

  “Where are they?” Janner asked.

  Sailing south, toward Yorsha Doon.

  “We can’t let them get away,” Kalmar said. “The last thing Aerwiar needs are two crazy witches on the loose with an ancient stone.”

  “Will you take us to them?” Leeli asked Hulwen.

  As you wish. Hulwen climbed out of the water. She had grown used to her legs, and the seawater seemed to have salved her wounds. She laid down on the stony shore, and Leeli climbed onto her back.