The Burning Kingdoms

by Sally Green

  Ambrose nodded. “Tash told me they were returning to the core. But why?”

  “It’s as if they’ve given up fighting and are killing themselves,” Tash said miserably.

  Frost scoffed. “They don’t see it as killing themselves—they see it as fueling the change. They don’t consider themselves individuals. Not like you and I would. They see themselves as part of the one spirit—the one smoke. They are smoke people, made of smoke that can re-form, move, create new smoke people—and new worlds.”

  “New demon worlds?” Tash asked.

  “Yes, Pea-Brain, new demon worlds. This isn’t the first, and it won’t be the last. Every time humans find their world, the smoke people end up being exploited and hunted. When that happens, they just . . . move somewhere else.”

  “How do you know this?” Ambrose asked.

  “I’ve seen into the demons’ thoughts. In the demon world, I see into everyone’s thoughts quickly. Instantly. You know that, Sir Ambrose. I saw your whole life in moments. It’s just something I can do.” She smiled briefly, a genuine smile for once. “Something I seem to be uniquely good at. And I’ve seen into the demons’ thoughts, their knowledge of the world. Knowledge they don’t normally share with anyone, not even Little Miss Pea-Brain, but I saw it. It’s like having a key to a door; once you have it and open the door, the information is all there, and you just have to walk through and see inside their collective memory.”

  It was certainly true that Frost had seen Ambrose’s whole life in an instant. “So you’ve seen in the demons’ thoughts that their world closes up, and the smoke moves away to form another?” he said.

  “Yes, I have. That’s exactly what I’ve seen. The tunnels close down, the cavern gets smaller, the old world dies as the smoke builds up. Haven’t you noticed that the smoke is changing too? Getting paler and hotter. Eventually it’ll go white and be so hot that nothing’ll keep it in. It’ll move up into a cloud of burning heat. A cloud of death.”

  “Death of the demons?” Ambrose asked.

  Frost rolled her eyes. “Death of anything that’s close to the smoke when it turns white.” She kept her gaze on Ambrose as she added, “Not just the smoke in the demon world. All the smoke everywhere. It’s all connected. It’ll all burn and destroy anything near it. The smoke in the bottles carried by the boys’ brigades. The smoke in the boys’ lungs. And the smoke in that small bottle Queen Catherine carries close to her ever-so-fragile heart. It’s all connected; it all belongs to the cloud. It will find a way to get free, and it will kill anything it touches.” She blinked innocently up at Ambrose.

  Ambrose felt his stomach clench. He turned to Tash. “Do you believe this?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But all the smoke is connected. And it is changing.”

  “How soon will it happen?” Ambrose asked.

  Frost shrugged. “That I don’t know, but I’m not going back in there to find out. Today or tomorrow or the next day . . . I’m not sure which, but I’m certain that if you come back here next week, there won’t be a demon world to see. It’ll have moved to a new place to start again.” Frost blinked and smiled at Ambrose. “Anyway, lesson time’s over. Aren’t you off to save your lady love?”

  Ambrose hesitated. “My men are in there. They’ll die.”

  Frost frowned theatrically. “Oh, yes. I quite forgot about that. Well, you have a choice to make, don’t you? Save them or save your queen. Or . . .” She turned to Tash. “You could always send her back.”

  Ambrose cursed.

  Tash put her hand on his arm. “You warn Catherine. I’ll go back. I’ll get them out. It won’t take more than half a day, if I’m quick. I can do it.”

  “But it could turn white at any moment.”

  “I have to try. But what are you going to do about her?” Tash asked, nodding at Frost.

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Something painful, I hope.” Tash gave a quick smile. “I need to go. Not a moment to spare, I guess.” She made a fist and knocked it against Ambrose’s. “Good luck—and don’t fuck up.”

  “Um, same to you, Tash.”

  And then she turned and ran into her tunnel. Ambrose felt guilty about letting her put herself in danger, but he couldn’t stop her, and he had to warn Catherine. But what to do with Frost? He couldn’t kill her, but he couldn’t release her either in case she raised the alarm. All he could do was take her with him until he came up with a better idea.

  “Come on,” he said, dragging Frost with him. He set off, keeping a tight hold of her wrist and was surprised to find her going with him, neither resisting nor slowing him.

  Still she said, “You’d be faster if you left me.”

  “Yes, until you send the Brigantines after me, and then I’d be dead.”

  “I won’t go back to them. Don’t you get it? I was their slave! I didn’t lie about that. They never let me out of those tunnels. They’d take me back in, and probably make me help fight you lot, even when everyone in there is going to die anyway.”

  “Very convincing. There’s just one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t trust a word you say.”

  Frost cursed and twisted her hand, but Ambrose kept a tight grip.

  “Actually, I have a hankering to travel. South, I think. To Savaant. Maybe farther.”

  “Well, we’re heading in that direction, so let’s keep moving.”

  Frost sneered. “You love Catherine a lot, don’t you? But you know she’ll never be yours again, even if you save her life?”

  “I know.”

  “And there’s a good chance you’ll never reach her in time—or die trying. Love seems to cause a lot of pain and suffering.”

  “And sometimes it’s beautiful too.”

  “Hope I never suffer from it.”

  Ambrose laughed. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that.”

  They were walking fast along the side of a stream.

  “I could do with a drink and a pee,” Frost said.

  “You can have both, but I’m not letting go of your wrist.”

  Frost looked at him. “I’ve been living as a slave with soldiers for years; you think that bothers me?”

  But before Ambrose could reply, she had twisted free and jumped down the slope into the water. Ambrose raced after her, trying to grab her, but fell as she rolled away and splashed through the stream to the other side.

  Ambrose got to his feet and stared across at her.

  “You could waste your time chasing after me, or you could run to Catherine,” said Frost. “I know what I’d do if I was you.”

  Ambrose watched her turn and run—away from him, away from the Brigantines, and, who knew, perhaps eventually to Illast or Savaant.

  He headed south as fast as he could, trekking through the night, drinking from streams and following their flow southward. The sun had climbed a little above the horizon when he reached the plateau’s edge. He could see the land below: the river and the road that ran along the far side of it.

  He’d made it.

  He shielded his eyes to see better. It almost looked like the model in the war room. Rossarb was to the right, and around the town were Aloysius’s forces, and ringed around them were more forces—the Pitorian army.

  They’re attacking.

  He could see that the Pitorians closer to him were white-hairs, and, on a small hill not far from the River Ross, was a small, tented area. It was a command post. Would Catherine be there?

  But then he spotted something else—soldiers running through the trees along the north side of the Ross. They had to be Brigantines, and, if so, they were positioning themselves around the white-hairs’ camp. Farther away, he could see more men running fast through the trees, but some leaped and somersaulted.

  They’re not me
n; they’re the boys.

  There were at least a hundred of them, possibly more. And then, down in the camp far below, he saw a small figure dressed in white.

  Catherine!

  Ambrose leaped down the steep side of the plateau. He had to get to her before the boys.

  CATHERINE

  ALSOP HILL, NORTHERN PITORIA

  Fight to the death and then keep on fighting.

  Brigantine saying

  CATHERINE WALKED through her camp as the clear sky began to lighten with the new day. The imposing wall of the Northern Plateau was already touched by the sun, and the stone shone like silver. It was strangely calm. There was no wind. The river could be heard, but not seen.

  To the west, the silhouette of Rossarb was just visible and, before it, the two armies ranged. Farther beyond them, Catherine thought she could see a faint shimmer of the Pitorian Sea. It was impossible to see ships from this distance, and certainly not the small scullers, but if the plan had gone well, they should have landed on the northern shore in the night and seized the forts there.

  The battle had already begun, and yet here it felt calm. Catherine looked around at her personal guard, and beyond to the huge number of white-hairs before her, and felt pride that these men had chosen to fight for her against a common enemy—a man who had always been her enemy, her own father.

  Horses were moving behind the Pitorian lines among herself, Ffyn, and Davyon, and even back to Tzsayn, and a rider arrived with a message.

  The scullers have landed successfully and taken the forts despite stiff defense. Davyon and the blue-hairs are in position and ready to attack.

  I wish him well, and you too, my love. This is our moment. Today we will lay the first stone of our future together in a free Pitoria.

  Your loving husband,

  Tzsayn

  Catherine stroked her finger across Tzsayn’s signature.

  Husband.

  A shout roused her, her men pointing to the distance. The blue-hairs, led by Davyon, were advancing. The next stage of the attack was beginning. Knowing Tzsayn would be worried about her, Catherine went into her tent to write a short note to reassure him she was safe. She’d just picked up the quill when there was a different cry from outside. An alarm.

  “Attackers! Attackers! Look to the queen!”

  Catherine dropped her quill and dashed outside as one of her guard raced up to her.

  “Boys, Your Majesty. They’re coming across the river. Heading this way. They’re fast . . .”

  Catherine’s blood turned icy. They were coming for her. Her father’s spies had seen her from the Northern Plateau, and he’d sent the boys to ambush her. Why hadn’t she foreseen this?

  She turned to the guard. “Find General Ffyn. Tell him that the boys’ brigades are attacking us. We need support. Go!”

  The man leaped onto his horse, but the first boys were already running into the camp, heading straight for her tent, cutting down her white-hairs without seeming to break stride. One of her guards scooped Catherine up in his arms and half threw her onto her horse. “We must leave now, Your Majesty.”

  Catherine snatched up the reins, but where should she turn? She wanted to go to Ffyn and the main force of white-hairs, but the boys had already cut off that route.

  “Follow the River Road. Head east.” It was away from Ffyn, but it was the quickest route and Catherine knew she had to be fast. She kicked her horse, galloping hard, five guards close to her, ten or twelve boys in pursuit.

  “We’ll soon be away from them,” one guard shouted.

  “No. They can keep up this pace all day. Don’t let up!”

  But now some more boys appeared ahead. The river was to her left, and to her right she saw even more boys converging on the road.

  A spear took out one of her guards.

  Catherine kicked her horse on.

  But the boys were getting closer. One appeared, running alongside her nearest guard’s galloping horse, shouting and whooping as if it was a game. The guard struck at the boy with his sword, but then he was gone, pulled from his horse.

  Another guard replaced his position, spurring his horse hard.

  “Keep on, Your Majesty!” Then he too was gone. Catherine wanted to scream with anger and frustration. But the shouting came from the boys who surrounded her. All she could do was urge her horse forward.

  And then a boy was somehow up in the air beside her, making an impossible leap, slamming into her shoulder, and sending her off the horse so she was flying through the air.

  No. She was on the ground. And it was hard and the world was spinning, then black. Shouting continued around her.

  Catherine forced her eyes open.

  There were about twenty boys standing round her. She was dragged to her feet, and their leader looked her up and down. He had spots on his chin, and his teeth were almost green. He wore a leather jerkin with a badge in the shape of an eagle’s head sewn roughly over his heart. He was perhaps sixteen years old.

  “Queen Catherine.” The boy sketched a mocking bow. “Nice to meet you this fine morning. Consider yourself a prisoner of the Eagles.”

  “I’ll consider you a fool and a villain. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Catherine said.

  “Did I ask for your opinion?” The boy slapped Catherine hard across the face, and she fell to the ground, blood pouring from her nose. “Now stop yapping and start walking. We’re taking you to the king.”

  As Catherine was pulled to her feet, a Brigantine soldier on horseback rode up at a gallop. Even in her dazed state, there was something familiar in his posture, but her scrambled brain couldn’t quite place it until he was nearer, and then there was no doubting the handsome face.

  Ambrose!

  AMBROSE

  NORTHERN PITORIA

  AMBROSE HAD hurtled down the slope to reach the bot-tom of the plateau and stumbled across the bridge, grabbed a horse from the destroyed white-hair camp, and galloped in the direction he’d seen Catherine flee. He was beyond exhausted, and beyond desperate, and then ahead he saw what he dreaded most. Boys on their feet, and Catherine falling to the ground.

  No.

  But, as he rode on, Catherine was pulled upright.

  She’s still alive.

  Ambrose raced to them, uncertain what to do. He couldn’t fight all these boys—he probably couldn’t fight just one of them—but he had to do something. He pulled his horse up and called out, “Well done, boys! You’ve captured the queen of Pitoria!”

  “And who might you be, pink-hair?” one of the boys said.

  “I work for Noyes.”

  Ambrose needed an excuse for his sudden appearance, and spying seemed the only vaguely plausible one. “I have information about the queen. Don’t be fooled—she’s still a danger. She uses smoke too, to give her strength.”

  “Well, she ain’t got any strength now. She’s as weak as a kitten.”

  Ambrose looked at Catherine. There was blood around her nose, and her right eye was blackened and swelling. Normally the sight would have filled him with rage, but Ambrose felt only relief. She wasn’t healing, which meant she hadn’t taken any smoke. Catherine stared back at him in disbelief, and Ambrose had to break his gaze in case he gave himself away. He said, “Has she any smoke with her, though? If so, she could still be a danger. I believe she keeps a bottle of it within her armor.”

  “How do you know that?” The boy speaking was older and was now pointing his spear at Ambrose’s chest. “And what did you say your name was again?”

  “Daniels. I work for Noyes. And I’d be glad if you pointed that somewhere else, boy.”

  “I’m Gaskett, leader of the Stags,” replied the youth, lowering his spear a fraction. “And what are you doing here, Daniels?”

  “I’ve been sent to protect the queen. Aloysius wa
nts her alive.”

  “Indeed he does. I’m not stupid. But I still don’t under-stand what you’re doing here, or why you’ve got pink hair.”

  Ambrose sighed. “I told you, I work for Noyes. I’ve been undercover in the Pitorian camp.”

  “Well, as it happens, Noyes got back to our camp last night. I’m taking Her Majesty there, and you’re coming with us too.”

  TASH

  DEMON TUNNELS

  TASH RAN on, the smoke giving her speed beyond anything she’d experienced before. It was wonderful to move at such a pace, even though her speed was driven by fear for herself and the Demon Troop. As she approached the cavern, a cacophony of clanging warned her that something was wrong, and she emerged from her tunnel into the middle of another battle. Geratan and his men were fighting Brigantines on the lower terraces, and more enemy soldiers were storming out of tunnels on the far side of the cavern. Clearly the Brigantines were trying to retake control of their precious smoke farm, and although Geratan and his men were fighting back fiercely, they were outnumbered and giving ground. The cavern itself seemed smaller still, and the billowing funnel of smoke in the central core was a pale lilac color rather than purple.

  But it’s not white yet. We’ve got time.

  Tash headed toward Geratan, leaping down a terrace, but a huge Brigantine soldier blocked her way. He advanced slowly, his sword by his side, grinning at her. Urgh, it’s a game to him, is it? Well, let’s see if he likes how I play it. She grinned back and beckoned him forward before running directly at him. Full of strength and speed from the smoke, she barged his chest with her shoulder, sending him toppling off the terrace, arms and legs flailing.

  But behind him was another soldier, and behind him more were coming.

  Geratan’s men were retreating up the terraces now, falling back toward the lopsided tunnel that Tash had marked as the way out. Tash had to head there too, but the Brigantines were coming from all directions. She was trapped. But then another figure leaped down to her.