by Sally Green
“Maybe all I need to do is tell Harold the truth about you, and I’ll get to be his new favorite,” sneered Rashford.
“For half a day, if that. You know not to trust Harold—ever. None of us interest him any more than an ant.”
“So what’s your plan, March? Do you have one, or are you just letting off a bit of steam?”
In truth, he didn’t have a real plan other than to wait for an opportunity. But he kept waiting and kept putting it off. “Steam, mostly,” he replied.
Rashford grinned, reached over, grabbed March’s bottle of smoke, and pulled the cork out.
March snatched after the bottle, but it was too late. The purple smoke drifted out and up and away. “What did you do that for?” he yelled.
“Sometimes you look so angry, March. I wouldn’t want you to lose it when you had smoke inside you and get ideas that you could fight Harold. Even with the smoke, you’d lose, but you might be tempted to try. I’ve just done you a favor.”
March pushed past him to make his way back to the castle, but Rashford stayed with him. They passed the bodies of two old women lying in blood on the street. March said, “This isn’t war. This is carnage. These people weren’t soldiers.”
“Harold wants one in ten dead,” Rashford said.
“Who’s doing the counting?”
They reached the castle, where the body count was higher still.
They stopped talking now and made their way inside, conscious that other boys could hear their conversation. Someone told them Harold was in the Throne Room and Rashford muttered, “I’ll leave you to it.”
Harold was sitting on Thelonius’s throne. There was a chair next to it that hadn’t been there when March had last served Thelonius. It must be Edyon’s place. They’d been ruling together—Edyon’s dream had become a reality, for a few weeks.
“There you are, March.”
March stopped and bowed. “Congratulations on a great victory, Your Highness.”
Harold grinned. “The first of many.”
“The first of many,” March echoed, approaching Harold, wondering if he could attack him from behind while they were alone. “Is there anything you need, Your Highness?” he asked.
“Yes. Lots. Food. Immediately. And prepare my bed-chamber.”
March had no alternative but to turn round and go out. When Harold said immediately, he meant it.
March went to the kitchens and was sickened again by the sight of the bodies there, but relieved to see that the girl he’d given smoke to had gone. He collected as much food as he could carry and took it back up to the Throne Room, but Harold had already left. March took the supplies to Thelonius’s rooms, which he assumed Harold would want as his. Just like old times, March would sleep in his old, small chamber nearby. The perfect place from which to creep up on Harold. It would be much harder without smoke, but that was just one more excuse for inaction, and March had been excusing himself for long enough.
Perhaps I can do it tonight. Perhaps while he sleeps.
But Harold didn’t return for the food or even to sleep. He was in a state of euphoria. He’d had his first victory. He’d done what Aloysius had never managed, and done it quickly—absurdly easily. He’d taken Calia. He spent the day walking the city, with Sam and some of the other boys trailing after him. March joined them for a while but kept his distance. The celebrations were empty to him, he was exhausted, and he had no smoke to give him any strength.
The revelries were finally over by the time dawn came to March’s second day in Calia. The harsh light of day was not kind. Bodies lay in the streets, and gray smoke from numerous fires hung in the still, hot air. March wandered around the castle. He had no idea where Harold was. Or Sam. Or Rashford. People moved around and met in different rooms, sleeping on floors, eating what they could.
At midday riders arrived—Commander Pullman, one of Lord Thornlees’s senior officers, and ten men with him from the old man’s army. They were taken to the Throne Room, where they waited. Someone said that Harold had been sent for but finding him would be hard. Pullman paced around the room, looking at March, who shrugged. “He’s a prince. He’ll come when he likes.”
“He’s leading this campaign, and we’re at war. He’s al-ready messed up. The boys’ brigades were supposed to stay at the wall and help us hold it, and now Thelonius’s army is attacking our men.”
“They are?” March tried not to sound hopeful.
Just then Harold strode in, looking surprisingly smart and tidy, still in his armor, his hair a different style from the day before. He flung himself onto the throne and called out, “March, bring me my wine.”
Pullman bowed and stepped forward to speak.
Oh dear, no. That’s not the done thing, Pullman. You have to wait to be invited.
March could already see that the meeting would not go well. He could help smooth things over, but why should he? He poured Harold a large goblet of wine and stood by his shoulder.
“Your Highness. Lord Thornlees has sent me with—”
“Is someone speaking, March? Did you hear a noise?” Harold asked, taking his wine.
Pullman realized his error in speaking without invitation. He added to it by apologizing profusely.
“Still an awful noise. Do you hear it, March?”
“There was something, Your Highness.”
“Something rude and unpleasant hurting my ears.”
Pullman opened his mouth to object but apparently had second thoughts.
“Who’s that before me?” Harold asked.
March replied, “That is Commander Pullman, Your Highness. Sent with a message for you from Lord Thornlees. A message of congratulations on your famous victory, no doubt.”
“Let him speak, then.”
Pullman hesitated for a moment, glanced at March, and pulled a smile across his face, taking March’s words as his cue. “Congratulations, Your Highness, on your victory here in Calia. All of Brigant is joyous at your success.”
“They’ve already heard of it?”
“Well . . . I mean, they will be joyous when they do.”
“Is that Thornlees’s message?” Harold asked.
“Lord Thornlees hadn’t heard the news when he sent me either, Your Highness. He is holding the wall but is under attack from the Calidorians, who vastly outnumber him. He asks that you send your boys’ brigades to his assistance.”
“So that’s where Thelonius has sneaked off to.”
It was hardly sneaking off to be fighting your enemy, but Pullman wasn’t quite so foolish as to contradict Harold.
Harold turned to March, who would have far preferred to be left out of this conversation. “You know Thelonius better than us all, March. What’s in his mind? Why has he left his castle to go to fight at a wall?”
“I’m no strategist, Your Highness.”
“Answer me!”
“While my knowledge of strategy is limited, my knowledge of Thelonius tells me much.” March struggled to think of things to say. “He will do everything to defend his country, defend his borders. He trusts in his castle. I’m sure he never expected you to take it. He possibly didn’t even know we were coming, as we ran so fast through Abask. He probably knows it now, but too late, as he’s committed his forces to the attack on Thornlees. If he wins the wall back, he believes you will be trapped in Calia . . . with limited smoke . . . and when that runs out . . . he will only have to fight fewer than a thousand boys.”
Harold’s face was impassive. “Sometimes, March, I do believe you’re not as vacant as your pale eyes imply.” He lifted his boot and flicked a speck of dust off it. “It looks like we’ll have to return to save Thornlees and show Thelonius what we can do.”
The relief showed on Pullman’s face—relief and regret that he was somehow dependent upon the whims of this boy.
Harold
stood and smiled. “It was getting very dull here. March, tell the brigade leaders to get their boys together. We return to the wall. We’ll show these old men how to win against the Calidorian army.”
TASH
DEMON TUNNELS
JUST THINK of the smoke store.
Tash tried to focus but nothing happened. It was hard to concentrate, but she had Geratan and Ambrose and the Pitorian army depending on her. She had to forget about the danger, even forget about what they were trying to achieve. All she had to do was concentrate . . .
Think of the cage.
Still nothing happened.
Bottles in a cage.
Bottles, bottles, bottles!
The stone before her didn’t change at all.
Shits.
She took a breath and rested her head on the stone. She’d had to widen the tunnel all the way back from the surface. And she’d got herself to the surface before that. She’d found Geratan, which was great, but Rafyon was dead. And lots of images were swimming in her head; she was exhausted.
Are you all right? Geratan asked, gently putting a hand on her shoulder.
Tash stood upright. Yes, fine. Just need to concentrate.
Of course. Yes. We’re all grateful for what you’re doing, Tash. You’re amazing.
I’m alive—that’s amazing. In a demon tunnel in a demon world. Who’d have thought that?
Tash, I’m trying to give you a compliment. When someone praises me for my dancing, I take their words into my heart. Bringing someone pleasure is a wonderful thing to do. Please take my compliment into your heart.
She had no idea how to do that. Sure. Right.
You can thank me for it too, if you like.
Oh. Right. Thanks.
It’s a pleasure.
Tash was still uncertain what else to say, but it did feel good. No one had ever said nice things about her before, not even Gravell.
I’ve got to think of the smoke store now.
Of course.
Thanks, though.
I’ll be right behind you if you need me.
Tash felt a little stronger. A little happier. She held the vision of the smoke store in her head. A specific place too—she wanted to come up from below, inside the cage.
And finally the stone began to move away—almost like a curtain being drawn aside—and the tunnel sloped down, swinging in a wide arc and then beginning to rise.
The vision in Tash’s head was getting clearer—they were close to the store. She closed her eyes and thought of coming up inside the cage, and almost as soon as she thought it, the stone above her opened up and a bottle of smoke fell toward her. Tash caught it, then slowly raised her head up through the hole. She was inside the cage. She could see a guard at the entrance to the main cavern, but he had his back to her and didn’t seem to have heard anything.
Tash dropped back down to Geratan.
We’re in. There’s one guard at the entrance.
He squeezed past to take a look and then dropped back down, touching her shoulder.
Can you make another tunnel to come up just behind him?
Tash did as she was asked, thinking of a place a few paces behind the guard. As soon as the stone opened fully, Geratan moved past her with three of the other crimson-hairs. Tash didn’t want to see what they were going to do. Whatever it was, they did it silently.
Geratan dropped back down to her again.
Ambrose will start the attack on the main cavern soon. Stay here until the fighting’s over.
Almost immediately there was a distant sound of clanging. The attack had begun.
Stay safe, Tash!
Geratan and his men ran up the slope and into the cavern, out of sight.
Tash went back along her tunnel and climbed up into the smoke store. She couldn’t fight, but there was something just as important she needed to do. She picked up the nearest bottle and pulled the top off. The smoke escaped out of the bottle and swirled around her, but then it seemed to choose a direction, sinking to the floor of the tunnel and flowing out to the main cavern.
Tash put the bottle down, picked up a second and released its smoke, which again swirled down the tunnel and out. She opened a third bottle, and a fourth. But there were still so many. It was taking too long. She picked up a fifth and dropped it. Then a sixth—dropped. Seventh and eighth—smashed against each other with a laugh. The ninth she threw at the bars of the cage.
Glass and smoke flew around her. She could hardly see the bottles at her feet for all the purple smoke. She kicked at them as it swirled around her, getting in her face and up her nose, into her head. She was surrounded by it, breathing it in as she threw and kicked and laughed and shouted.
AMBROSE
DEMON TUNNELS
AMBROSE CREPT along the terrace, keeping low against the walls, his men silently following. Across the cavern Anlax mirrored him, moving down toward the unsuspecting Brigantines. Glancing up, Ambrose saw several demons peering down from the higher terraces—they had noticed something was happening, even if the Brigantines hadn’t.
Well then, thought Ambrose, let’s give them a show . . .
Giving the signal to attack, he ran at the nearest Brigantine, drawing his short sword. The blade sliced into the man’s neck, blood spraying onto Ambrose’s hands and face, but he was already on to the next Brigantine and thrust his sword into the man’s shoulder. Clanging noises rang out, reverberating around the cavern. The Brigantines grabbed their arms and raced up to join the fight. Ambrose leaped down the ramps to meet them, cutting down two more men and was then in the clear. He ran along the terrace and down another ramp, checking his men were following, then glancing across to check on Anlax’s progress. That was when he saw Frost, the girl Tash had spoken about, racing into a tunnel, leading some Brigantines.
She knows the tunnel network, Ambrose thought. They’ll try to come at us from behind.
He signaled five of his men to go back up to intercept Frost, as a group of Brigantines charged up to him. The man in the lead was huge and Ambrose couldn’t match his strength, so he dodged to the side, slicing at the man’s legs as he jumped down to the terrace below, two Brigantines immediately coming after him.
His fighting was pure instinct now. His eyes saw and his body reacted. He cut into the neck of one man, used the Brigantine’s body to shield himself for a moment, then rolled low to slice at his next opponent’s legs and up into his groin. Ambrose rose to his feet again as his men leaped down to join him.
Purple smoke was flowing out of one of the lower tunnels and swirling around the cavern.
Tash! She’s destroying the smoke store.
He caught sight of Frost again, higher up now, above Anlax. Following the girl was a stream of Brigantines, racing down to attack Anlax’s men from the rear. But the men Ambrose had sent up to intercept them were already there, ambushing the Brigantines from the mouth of a tunnel.
At the base of the cavern, the Brigantines were falling back, purple smoke swirling around them ever more thickly. Ambrose ran at them, yelling his battle cry—a deafening, clanging sound. His men joined in, shouting with him as they ran down the ramp and crashed into the final group of Brigantine soldiers. Ambrose’s sword arm was aching, his hand slippery with blood, his head full of noise and clamor, but he wouldn’t stop until they’d won.
TASH
DEMON TUNNELS
THE NOISE in the cavern was like nothing Tash had ever heard before. It was madness. The purple demon smoke she had released from the bottles flowed over the bodies of dead soldiers and around the living, turning the fighting men into silhouettes. The smoke in the core was rising even higher, the whole cavern glowing more purple than red. It was hotter too, much hotter. Like being inside a fire. Tash’s eyes were drawn upward, toward the roof. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see demons looking down, watching the bat
tle. And one demon in particular.
Twist!
And then, a few terraces below him, she spotted another familiar face peering out from a tunnel. Frost was staring down at the smoke in the core, before ducking out of sight.
Oh no, missy. You’re not getting away . . .
Tash ran faster than she’d ever run before, feeling the power of the purple smoke flowing through her as she leaped over dead bodies and discarded weapons. Up and up. Higher and higher. At the higher levels, stone bridges crisscrossed the cavern and Tash glimpsed Frost running across one and leaping down to another, her eyes on a tunnel to her right.
Was it a way out? Whatever it was, Tash didn’t want her to reach it.
I’ve got to get there before her.
Tash ran and pushed off hard. She flew through the air and landed on the next bridge, going so fast she had to brake hard so as not to fall off the other side. She ran onto the terrace and blocked the tunnel entrance, just as Frost ran up a ramp, her chest heaving with the exertion. She slowed on seeing Tash, then shook her head and held her arms out as if defeated.
If you think I’m falling for that, it’s you who’s the pea-brain.
But then, behind Frost, another shape appeared—the huge red figure of Twist. Frost glanced round, her face changing to one of fear. She ran to Tash and grabbed her arm desperately.
Let me through. I need to get out.
You’re not going anywhere.
If you let that demon get me, he’ll kill me.
What’s that to me?
I’ll tell you about the smoke. Why it’s changing. And it’s changing even faster now. I know what’ll happen next.
If I protect you from Twist, you’d better tell us what’s happening. If not, I’ll hand you over to him myself. And Tash grabbed Frost by the hair and let go of her arm so her thoughts couldn’t be heard, and she stepped forward toward Twist.
