Harbinger: Fate's Forsaken: Book One (22 page)

They moved at a
trot until Horatio was near to passing out, then they slowed to a walk. Kael
glanced down the path several times, expecting to see all of Midlan barreling
down upon them. But they never followed.

He realized it
could have all gone terribly wrong: if they’d been spotted, if Kyleigh hadn’t
shown up, if the serving girl hadn’t caused that distraction — well, they
might be hanging from the town walls instead of joking about it. But even
though he knew they could have easily met their ends, his heart still pounded
with excitement.

He was having an
adventure. A
real
adventure!

At midday, his
stomach began to rumble, and the glory of it all wore off. He doubted if they
would ever catch up to the caravan, traveling at Horatio’s pace. Just when he’d
resigned himself to this thought, they crossed over the next hill and saw a
welcome sight.

A large grove
spread out beneath them, hundreds of trees sat heavy with orange fruit and
leaked the perfume of citrus into the air. The dirt road wound directly through
it and there, right in the middle of the grove, was the caravan.

Jonathan whooped
as they approached and several of the men looked up from their lunches to
cheer. They met them on the road, clapped them on the back and shoved rations
into their hands. Kael was surprised at how many of them seemed happy to see
him. He didn’t think he’d be missed. Chaney and Claude kept saying that they’d
been so afraid for him; that they thought he’d been captured. But they assured
him that if he were ever
really
captured, they’d come to his rescue. Then Garron shook his hand and thanked him
profusely for bringing Jonathan and Horatio back alive. He was sorry that he’d
ever doubted in his skill.

And then there
was Aerilyn. She didn’t bother with patting him on the back: she tackled him.
“I was so worried I’d never see you again!” she said. When she peeled her head
off his chest, he saw her eyes were shining with tears. “We waited so long and
you never came out. Then Papa said the guards were coming and we had to leave
and, oh, will you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I
forgive you,” he managed to say, even though she was practically strangling
him.

When she had all
the air squeezed out of him, she pounced on Kyleigh. “And
you
, how dare you! How dare you just run off like a madwoman without
so much as telling me where you were going.”

She laughed and
tried to pull away. “I told you
exactly
where
I was going.”

“Um,
to save Kael
isn’t a place, in case no
one’s told you.”

Jonathan elbowed
him in the side and winked, but Kael tried his best to ignore him. Having
Kyleigh show up made things easier — but he thought he still could have
escaped without her help.

When she
finished scolding them, Aerilyn threw her arms around Horatio. Even Jonathan
got a hug — until he did something that earned him a slap across the face
instead.

After they’d
been welcomed back, Garron gave them an extra few minutes for lunch. They
settled under a large tree to eat and Aerilyn left to pick them some oranges.
Kael volunteered to help.

“Papa bought
three barrels full — plus we get to have one each for lunch,” she said,
plucking a large piece of fruit off its branch and handing it to him. “He
traded the farmer a silk blouse for them. Can you believe it?”

Kael didn’t know
what a silk blouse was, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Garron cheated the poor
farmer senseless. “I hope he was pleased with the trade,” he said carefully.

She smiled. “I
think he was. He lost money, but it makes him ever so happy to help the working
class.”

Kael nearly
dropped his armful of oranges. “Wait a moment — he
lost
money?”

She looked at
him curiously. “Silk is the clothing of Kings, not farmers. Of course, the
farmer didn’t know that: he just wanted to get something lovely for his wife.”
He must have still looked shocked, because she glanced around her and lowered
her voice. “Can you keep a secret, my friend?”

He nodded
warily, wondering what sort of secret a girl like Aerilyn could possibly keep.

“Well,” she took
a deep breath, “Papa and I aren’t actually from the Grandforest.”

Anyone with half
an eye could have seen that, but he tried to act surprised. “Really? I had no
idea …”

She nodded.
“It’s true. My family is from the High Seas, originally. But my grandfather
moved our business to the forest when Papa was a child. And do you know why?”

“No. Why?”

“Because he owed
the people of the village a great debt — a life debt. You see, one day,
while Grandfather and Papa were on the merchant’s journey, Papa became deathly
ill. They stopped at a small village in the Grandforest, where an old man gave Papa
medicine to break his fever. But even after the fever left, he was still too
weak to travel. Though Grandfather didn’t have enough coin to pay him, the old
man swore he would care for Papa while he finished their route.

“Grandfather was
so grateful for his help that he moved his business to the forest and gave the
villagers work in the caravan. Papa has never forgotten the kindness shown to
him by that old man. He says he learned that some of the wealthiest people in
the Kingdom are those who have little but kindness to give to others.”

Kael hadn’t been
expecting to hear that about Garron. He cleared his throat roughly. “Well, that
was nice of him.” And then, because he didn’t know what else to say: “Come on,
the others will be waiting.”

They passed out
the oranges and dug into their lunch. Claude was the only one who struggled to
get his peel started. After watching his first unsuccessful attempts, Kyleigh
took the orange out of his hand and bit directly through the skin. He had no
trouble finishing up from there. Kael ate his a slice at a time, savoring the
flavor that burst out from the tiny pouches of juice. Chaney amused himself by
spitting the seeds at Jonathan’s head. It took him a few moments to realize who
was pelting him, but when he caught on, Jonathan fired back. A full-fledged war
ensued — during which nearly everyone got hit by a stray seed.

They finished
lunch in a whirl and still had a few minutes to relax. Kael was thinking very
seriously about taking a nap when an ear-grating note came off Jonathan’s
fiddle.

“How about a
little afternoon entertainment, eh? All right, you’ve twisted my arm. Prepare
yourselves, gents and ladies,” he glanced at Kyleigh, “and those of us whose
outfits suggest that we’re on the fence.”

She gave him
what Kael imagined was a very rude gesture, judging by Aerilyn’s offended gasp
and Chaney’s snickers.

“There’s no need
to be so coarse,” Jonathan said with mock severity. “That having been told,
t’would now be my delight to entertain you all with a dirty little ditty I call
The Pirate’s Perilous Pantaloons
—”

“Oh, Jonathan
please
— none of your horrid songs
today! We were all having such a wonderful lunch,” Aerilyn begged.

“Yes, if you’re
going to sing something, it needs to be appropriate,” Kyleigh said.

“Oh, and look
who’s lecturing on appropriateness! What was it you were saying just moments
ago?” Jonathan countered, cupping his hand behind his ear in dramatic
anticipation.

“Well
technically I didn’t
say
anything
—”

“Well
technically
it was vile!” Aerilyn cut
in. “A lady should never engage in such profanity. Kael’s manners are better
than yours, and he’s a
boy
.”

“Thanks for
that,” he muttered.

Kyleigh gave her
a wicked grin. “You’re right, I wasn’t exactly being ladylike. Why don’t you
let me make it up to you?”

She crossed her
arms. “You can’t take back what’s already been said.”

“For the last
time — I didn’t say anything. Now,” she nodded to Jonathan, “feel free to
jump in whenever you like. I know you know this one.”

She crossed her
legs and stretched her interlaced fingers — like they should all be
expecting something extraordinary. Then quite unexpectedly, Kyleigh started to
sing.

Her voice filled
the air and stunned them all into silence. Jonathan was so taken aback that he
nearly forgot to join in. But when he did, his song danced along with hers:
lifting in places where her voice fell, and fading back as she carried notes to
heights he could not.

Kael lost
himself in the story they told.

The pretty blue violets were blooming,

Their blossoms abound in the field.

But Sir Gorigan’s eyes were so gloomy,

For he only had but a shield!

The dragons laid waste to the Valley,

The fiery beasts in great horde.

Sir Gorigan cried, “I could slay them,

If only I had but a sword!”

Then the sun called, “I see you, Gorry.

Take the blade from my burning forge.

Hold it aloft and fall on the dragons,

Their fire’s no match for my sword!”

When the last
line trailed away, he could hardly believe it: he thought she didn’t care a
whit about Sir Gorigan. But before her audience could erupt in applause, she
glanced at him. He saw her smirk and he dropped his head.

All right, but
he refused to let her think he was impressed.

“That was
absolutely beautiful!” Aerilyn said. “I don’t know why you’ve kept quiet all
this time. And
you
!” She pelted
Jonathan with a handful of orange peel. “How could you? You’ve been torturing
us for all these years — and you can really sing! How
dare
you!”

Peel flew at
Jonathan from all directions. He laughed and tried to block their shots with
the back of his fiddle. “How was I to know that you’d like that boring sort of
thing? I’ve considered it my personal duty to educate you lot of heathens,
teach you a little something about art, and all that — ow! Well that’s
gratitude for you!”

He sprang up and
ran into the cover of the trees. Chaney and Claude charged in after him,
hurling peel.

Beneath the
fortress of Midlan, well below the warm hearths and comfortable beds, was a
world of darkness: a honeycomb of dank stone rooms that lurked, forgotten. It
was a gloomy tangle of crypts, a chapter that should have been struck from the
Kingdom’s history long ago. And the King had promised to seal them, to judge in
death or freedom but never to condemn a man to rot.

Only, he’d lied.

Water dripped
from the ceiling in maddening drops. It pooled in filthy puddles and reflected
the monstrous faces of Midlan’s most dangerous prisoners. The slime on the
floors did little to muffle their howling. Some threw themselves against the
walls of their cell. Some clawed at stone or whimpered. But try or cry none of
them would ever see daylight again, not until the King allowed them to.

Bloodfang
listened to their hopeless pounding. The ones who struggled were only pups:
they had yet to learn that escape was impossible. Even if they squeezed through
the iron bars or dug under the floor, the collars around their necks would burn
and force their bodies back into their cages.

His pack was
used to their collars. After years of having their bodies twisted and pulled at
the King’s command, their two shapes had become one.

Now the pack was
curled up, sleeping on a mound of straw. But Bloodfang couldn’t sleep. He sat
against the wall with an arm propped on one furry knee and kept watch. His body
looked like a man’s, but it was covered in thick black hair. His head and face
was entirely that of a wolf. The only thing truly left of his human self were
the eyes beneath his furry brow.

The King could
have his body, but he’d fought to keep his mind. He ignored the voices that
swam in and out of his ears, the scattered thoughts of all those trapped by the
mages’ spell. He knew if he listened to them that his eyes would go empty and
dark. He’d become entirely animal … like the rest of his pack.

Somewhere down
the hall, a door creaked open. Bloodfang’s pointed ears twitched as heavy
footsteps dragged across the cold floor, moving towards their cell. He stood,
listened, then woke his pack with a low whine. They stretched and grumbled that
their naps had been ruined, but couldn’t ignore the call of their alpha. One by
one, they sat up. Their long limbs splayed out over their knees as they
squatted, their deadly claws twitched in anticipation.

When the mangled
face of the beastkeeper came into view, Bloodfang’s tail thumped against the
floor in greeting. He yapped at the gray hawk perched on the beastkeeper’s
shoulder, who flapped his wings in reply.

Bloodfang liked
Eveningwing: he was only a pup, but he was clever. He knew to fight against the
voices.

It wasn’t
feeding time, so if the beastkeeper was visiting them, Bloodfang knew he must
have a message from the King. The iron gauntlet on the beastkeeper’s scarred
arm glowed when he touched it. Bloodfang felt his collar get warm. He sat up a
little straighter. Suddenly, the King’s voice was in his head:

Follow Eveningwing — he will lead you
to the prey. When you find her … kill her. Bring me her head, and you will be
rewarded.

The pack joined
Bloodfang’s excited growl. They were ready for a new hunt and waited
impatiently for the King’s memory.

Bloodfang
recognized the town they were to start at: a village the humans called Crow’s
Cross. There was a bed at the inn that would have her scent. Then the memory
changed, and he saw her face. That’s when he realized he wouldn’t need her
scent, for he already knew it well.