Songkeeper

by Gillian Bronte Adams

  To his surprise, Cade let the matter drop. Just clucked to the four horses and started them back toward the hollow. The wagon was surprisingly quiet—wheels must have been oiled recently—and even the soft jingling of the harnesses was faint enough that Ky could hear the rustle of wings passing close by his head. Instinct kicked in before his brain had even registered the sound. He slipped a stone into his sling, spun twice, and released toward the noise.

  He heard the thunk when it hit.

  The bird screeched, fluttering its wings in panic.

  A glancing blow . . .

  Before he could reload, another snap rang out, and a stone buzzed past his ear. Something cracked. The wings fell silent. Mindolyn’s pale light glinted off the bird’s oiled black feathers as it fell to earth.

  A raven.

  One of the Takhran’s spies.

  He glanced back at Migdon who was still lying propped against the side of the wagon. The dwarf stretched his sling and let it snap back with a grin—though his face was so swollen it looked more like a grimace. A prone shot like that was nothing to snort at, and he well knew it.

  “Sling-bullets, bucko my boyo, can’t beat ’em.” Migdon groped inside his knapsack and produced a jar. “Here. You might want to spread this behind the wagon, a handful at a time, until we’re well clear of this place.”

  “Give it to me.” Paddy heaved a sigh. “I can do it, so long as you don’t mind tellin’ me what exactly I’m doin’.”

  “One spy down. You can bet your britches more will follow. That’s ground havva leaves in there. Works wonders keeping hounds off the scent. They can’t bear the reek of it.” Migdon chuckled and winced. “Personally, I think it’s rather nice. Minty.”

  “Right. Minty.” Paddy shuffled to the back of the wagon, giving Ky an elaborate shrug and wink as he passed.

  Minutes later, there was still no sign of pursuit. The wagon came to an abrupt stop on the edge of the hollow, and Cade jumped down. “Paddy, with me. Ky, mind the horses. We’ll be back in a moment.”

  The two boys disappeared into the hollow, leaving the seat to Ky. He picked up the reins and held them loosely in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, more to have something to do than from fear the horses would try to wander away. They seemed perfectly content to stand and doze in their traces, waiting for Cade to return.

  “Care to tell me why we’ve halted, bucko?”

  “There’s a few more of us.” Ky kept his tone short, his words clipped, hoping it would discourage the dwarf from talking. Sometimes there just wasn’t much to say.

  “Care to tell me where we’re headed then?”

  He let the silence drag for a second, as he rubbed the reins between his thumb and forefinger, breathing in the musty scent of leather and neatsfoot oil. “Away.”

  “Look, bucko,” Migdon drawled. “Is this about that soldier? Because I had to knock him off. Couldn’t have him setting the whole army on us. It was the reasonable thing to do. End of tale. No need to get weepy over it.” He sighed. “Trust me, you don’t last long in a job like mine unless you’re willing to do the things nobody else wants to.”

  The dwarf’s assumption irked Ky and set his temper spoiling for a fight. Seemed like Migdon was ragging on him for being weak. But that wasn’t the problem. If Migdon hadn’t been so quick with his knife, another of Ky’s slingstones would have done the trick. He’d knocked more than one Khelari flat.

  No, the soldier’s death didn’t bother him.

  And somehow that fact stuck in his craw more than anything else.

  “Take my advice, bucko, and let it be. You got to learn to act for the good of all. I got my people to protect same as you got yours.” Migdon dug around in his knapsack again, pulled out a vial, and chugged it down. “Bleh, stuff tastes like bog water. It’s this herbal concoction a friend of mine whipped up. Fights wound rot and infection. Good ol’ Tymon …” The dwarf rattled on, but Ky no longer heard what he was saying. His attention had been claimed by the approach of soft footsteps and hushed voices.

  The Underground runners.

  It took all of five minutes to get everyone loaded up and jammed together like fish in a barrel. Oversized as the wagon was, it still wasn’t built to hold thirty runners comfortably, but if there was one thing the runners were used to, it was dealing with cramped quarters. They packed in so tight there was scarce room to breathe. A couple of the more reckless even opted to sit on the raised sides of the wagon with their legs dangling out and arms hooked together to keep from falling.

  Ky relinquished the driver’s seat to Cade and climbed into the back to take Meli in his lap, while Paddy perched on the tailboard, dropping handfuls of Migdon’s ground havva leaves to hide their scent. Of course, it made sense that someone should share the driver’s seat, but when Slack swung up beside Cade, Ky couldn’t help the twinge of frustration in his belly. Frustration that only grew once they were well beyond the Khelari camp and Slack and Cade started whispering and laughing together.

  Wasn’t it her fault Nikuto’s men had stormed the Underground? By rights, Cade should be furious at her. Instead, he shrugged it off like it was nothing, all the while tearing into Ky for his mistakes—past, present, and imagined.

  “Life ain’t fair, Shorty.” Dizzier’s voice drawled in the back of his head. “And that’s the plain truth of it. Sooner you learn that, the better.”

  Ky wormed back into his fringed jacket—thankfully, Paddy had thought to grab it when he pulled Meli out of the hollow—and tossed Cade’s cloak back to him. He let his head sag against the side of the wagon, and his eyes slid shut. But no matter how exhausted he was, there was no chance of sleep, what with the jolting of the wagon and the fevered moans of the sick. Not to mention the way his thoughts raced round and round like a petra caged in the market.

  Cade’s words repeated in his head. “You have a plan for where we should go?”

  No, he didn’t have a plan, and he bet Cade didn’t have one either. Even now, they must be traveling blind, driven only by a desire to get as far from the dark soldiers as they could. But what then? Where could they go, with the Nordlands fallen to the Khelari and all routes south blocked by the dark soldiers?

  “Bucko!” Across the wagon, Migdon struggled to rise, but the runners were packed so tight around him, it would have been impossible even if he did have the strength. “You didn’t tell me you lot had the white fever.” He practically spat that last bit out, like it was a curse.

  Ky couldn’t really blame him. The white fever was a sort of death sentence. He glanced at Meli’s pale face and sweat soaked brow. “We’re all doomed anyway.”

  “Blazes, boy,” Migdon spat. “I can’t go marching back to my homeland bearing the contagion of fever with me. The Xanthen will deny me entry, insist that I be quarantined, stick me in some forgotten outpost until I’m dead or they’re sure it’s safe—and right they should! It would have been better to leave me with the Khelari.”

  Another time, Ky might have felt more sympathy. Now he just gritted his teeth. “Hey, if you prefer the “hospitality” of the Khelari, you’re more ’n welcome to march back and let them have you. See how long you last while they’re trying to pry the secrets of the mountains out of you.”

  The dwarf grumbled something, but Ky just eased back and closed his eyes. Somehow, though, he couldn’t get the dwarf’s words out of his mind. “The Xanthen . . . didn’t you say they were some sort of scholars or something?”

  A grunt was all he got in answer, but it was enough to set his mind whirling. Scholars, soldiers—the Whyndburg Mountains had it all. It wasn’t such a stretch to imagine they might have healers as well—maybe even medicines that could halt the tide of the white fever.

  He sat up straight, jostling the runners next to him. What better place to hide the runners than the far north of Leira, in the one kingdom that Migdon claimed had a chance
of withstanding the dark soldiers? “You know.” He licked his cracked lips. “I’m no great hand at calculations, but the way I figure it, you owe me for that rescue.”

  The dwarf glared. “Oh, that is rich, bucko. Don’t you know they say that when a fellow puts you in greater danger than he rescued you from, all debts are canceled?”

  Ky squinted an incredulous eye at the dwarf.

  “No? Well, I’m pretty sure they say that. Somewhere. In fact, I’m almost positive.”

  “I’ve never heard it.” Ky scooted forward through the runners to Migdon’s side, lugging Meli along with him. He lowered his voice so only the dwarf could hear. “Look, we need a place to go. You could do with a ride north. What do you say we make a deal?”

  “Are you out of your mind? I’d be branded a traitor to my kind for guiding a wagonload of fever-ridden corpses into the mountains. And that’s what you lot would be by the time we arrived! You said it yourself, you’re all doomed anyway.”

  “Then you’re doomed with us.” Inwardly, Ky was screaming for the dwarf to help, but somehow he managed to keep his voice even. Deadly even, almost. Cade would have been proud. “Unless you have another handy vial of something in that knapsack of yours that’ll keep you from getting sick.”

  Migdon’s silence confirmed his wild hopes.

  “You do . . . you have something. Give it to me, Mig. Please . . . I’m begging you.”

  “Not with me, I don’t.” The dwarf muttered something beneath his breath. “Look, in the mountains, my people have discovered an herb that sometimes helps, but it’s very rare. Not the sort of thing they hand out to strangers.”

  “Then we’ll make friends.” Ky settled Meli more comfortably in his arms, peeling sweat slicked strands of her hair from his neck. “We’ll have to.”

  “You don’t make friends with people who show up unannounced on your doorstep, in wartime, with a deadly plague. It just isn’t done. No . . . no . . . no, absolutely not.”

  Funny how no sure sounded a whole lot like maybe to Ky.

  He grinned with a confidence he sure didn’t feel. “Give me six hours. I’ll convince you.”

  Tauros hovered directly overhead by the time Cade pulled the wagon to a halt beneath a copse of slick-gum trees and allowed the runners to disembark. It had been a long night and morning of zig-zagging across the golden dunes of the Nordlands, and the horses were due for a rest. Otherwise, Ky had no doubt Cade would have just kept going, driven by the same desperate need for action that he felt pulsing inside of him.

  Cade declared it too risky for a fire, so they all huddled beneath the shelter of the wagon and munched on scraps of coarse bread and dried meat while Jena tended the sick. Even at noon, the sun’s rays provided only that pale sort of winter heat that never penetrates the bones, leaving Ky grateful to have his jacket back.

  Slack pulled first watch, and Ky second. But it felt as though he had just drifted off to sleep when she shook him awake. “Hoy-up, Ky, your turn for watch.”

  Dragging his eyes open landed his gaze on the blade of Slack’s hatchet, less than a foot away, newly sharpened. She spat on the blade, rubbed it on her trousers, and held it up to catch the glint of the sun. Cocking her head, she evaluated the new edge. “Mind if I steal your spot? I’m bushed.”

  Ky grunted and pushed up onto his hands and knees. His joints were stiff enough that they could have been carved from zoar wood. “Sure. I generally make it a point not to refuse anyone with a weapon in my face.”

  Her low chuckle followed him out from under the wagon. He circled the copse a few times, idly swinging his sling to flick at frosted grass heads, then plopped down with his back to the left front wheel, elbows propped up on his knees. Within minutes, he was fighting to keep his eyes open, lulled by the shooshing of the wind through the grass.

  “Wakey, wakey, bucko my boyo.”

  Ky jolted upright, already spinning his sling, but Migdon’s chuckle brought him to like a dunk in the river. The dwarf squatted at his side, splitting seeds against his teeth and sending the shells flying a good fifteen feet before they landed. He had one elbow propped against the wagon wheel for support, the other juggling a small pouch.

  “Sleeping on guard duty, eh? Pretty sure there’s a death penalty for that in the Adulnae cohorts.” He sent a shell flying just over Ky’s head. “Good thing they don’t let outsiders join”

  Ky scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to join if I could.”

  “Well, good, there’s hope for you yet.” The dwarf dropped the pouch in Ky’s lap. It tipped over, spilling out a handful of sling-bullets. “Because I hear there’s also a hefty penalty for misuse of ammunition—such as, oh I don’t know, handing it over to the Khelari without first lodging it in their filthy skulls.” He clucked his tongue and wagged a finger in Ky’s face. “Don’t lose these. This is my extra extra pouch, so I won’t have any more for you until we reach the mountains and whatever forsaken outpost the Xanthen decide to throw us in.”

  “Wait . . . does that mean …”

  Migdon nodded. “Mad as it sounds, I’m in. Guess my tutoring’s finally starting to pay off, that or it’s coming back to bite me. They might have to start calling you Silvertongue too.”

  “Not a title I want.” A sudden thought struck him. “But if you want to keep yours, you’re going to have to prove yourself.” Ky nodded toward where Cade slept propped in a sitting position against a tree, sword drawn across his knees. “I know him. He’s already got some insane plan brewing. He’ll insist that we form some sort of outlaw band and live out here in the wild, like Hawkness before Drengreth. But that’s pure madness in the middle of winter with half our number sick already, and we need that medicine. You’ve got to convince him that the Whyndburg Mountains are the place to go.”

  “Convince fearless leader yonder?” Migdon cracked his knuckles. “Oh-ho, no worries, bucko. You see, selling an idea is all about figuring out what the other fellow wants and offering what you want in such a way he feels like it was his idea all along. Your buddy Cade there, what does he want more than anything?”

  Power . . . authority . . . dominance. Ky shook the thoughts away. Cade had good intentions, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. “I don’t know. He formed the Underground so we could survive. Maybe to keep his runners safe?”

  “You’re not thinking, bucko. That’s what you want most, probably what you think a leader should want most too, but it’s not what he wants most.” A fierce gleam lit the dwarf’s eyes. “Leave it to me. I’ll have him in three hours . . . or less.”

  PART four

  21

  It was the keening of rock gulls that drew Birdie to the rail as the single-masted cog rounded the headland and drifted into Rolis Bay, but it was her first glimpse of the serrated peak of Mount Eiphyr dead ahead that kept her there. She shivered at the sight, but told herself it was only the chill of dawn awakening over the water and pulled the scratchy woolen cloak tighter around her shoulders—a gift from Brog.

  Somehow, he had managed to scrounge up enough woolen cloaks for the lot of them from his “less than savory Soudlander friends” to conceal their “outlandish desert garb from unfriendly eyes.” At least, that was how he had put it.

  “Well, lass, here we are.” Amos’s low voice just reached her ears. He stood at the rudder, deftly steering the ship with his head thrown back and the wind ruffling his flaming hair. It was easy to forget that the peddler had been a Waveryder and an outlaw—and who knew what else—in his younger days, but she was glad for his presence on deck now that the end was in sight.

  Amos radiated strength.

  And just as one drew near to a fire to draw heat from the flames, she sought Amos’s strength whenever hers was lacking.

  The others slumbered still in the narrow crawl space below. It was a good thing that Amos had insisted Balaam remain in the Soudland
s with Brog. Between the griffin and four humans, space below deck was limited. The donkey hadn’t put up much of an argument either, though he had certainly made a good show of it for Amos. Birdie alone knew his relief at being allowed to remain in the safety of his stall.

  “What d’ ye think o’ Serrin Vroi?”

  Birdie followed the slope of the mountain to the enormous walled fortress built into its side, then let her gaze roam across the city that wrapped around its base and sprawled over the foothills, and finally down to the harbor. It looked exactly as she had envisioned it in the Hollow Cave. Though a bit brighter and less terrifying cast in the pale gold of dawn.

  “It’s not as frightening as I expected …”

  Brave words. Horribly untrue.

  “Indeed?” Amos sounded a bit taken aback by her answer. “Well, I daresay ye’ll find it looks far less pleasant the farther we venture in.”

  The tall tales travelers had whispered by the common room fire always made Serrin Vroi sound like some sort of a dead city, painting a picture so grim and dark that it could only be populated by ghosts and monsters. But from what Birdie could see of the wharf as they drew nearer, it didn’t look all that different from the other sea ports she had seen during their month long journey beating up alongside the western coast of Leira.

  At such an early hour, the place was hardly bustling, but there was a steady stream of people out and about. Ordinary people going about ordinary lives. Both ghosts and monsters seemed to be in short supply.

  She joked as much to Amos.

  He said nothing, but the grim, almost haunted, expression on his face made her wonder if ghosts might not be too far from the truth. A minute later, the cog bumped to a stop alongside the wharf, and Sym appeared at the rail beside Birdie.

  Amos lashed the cog into place, shrugged out of his heavy overcoat and threw it over the rudder along with his feathered cap. “Security’s generally fairly lax along the wharf, but I’ve got to settle matters with the dock master and see about borrowin’ a cart so the old catbird can enter the city proper without alertin’ every blaggardly Khelari in the place.”