A trap. I will not be trapped.
One more step. Hatta reached out and touched the bandersnatch’s short forearm. It was leathery and hot and verdant, but he didn’t have much of a chance to examine it before the creature spun and sprang out of the clearing. It moved so fast that for a moment Hatta wasn’t sure if it had been there or not. The mule-less cart in the clearing told him
something
had been there, and the blood-red eyes were so vivid in his memory.
Yet as much as he loved colors, they often deceived him. That was the worst part about his mad thoughts—they came to his mind in exactly the same way the most vibrant colors did. It went beyond mere sensory perception; it was accompanied by joy and feelings of certainty. The fascinating experience with the bandersnatch fit that perfectly.
The best experiences in Hatta’s life were indistinguishable from many of the imaginary thoughts that led him to act unstably. Colors were a source of his greatest joys, but often led him headlong into turmoil. They just weren’t trustworthy.
There was nothing to it but to go look for the mule. He could ask her about the bandersnatch. The ornery thing probably wouldn’t deign to talk to him, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. And he could usually tell when animals were lying.
With a smile and a whistle on his lips, Hatta went in search of the mule.
Chapter 10
Gap
Clouds filled the sky and a light dusting of snow drifted as Quicksilver Squadron entered the lowlands leading to Serpent Gap. For five days Duke Jaryn, trained Militia, and the City Watch of Knobbes had kept up a tireless pursuit. Most of the squadron’s supplies and coins were still with the cooks and grooms back in the city, leaving Quicksilver Squadron limited to the small rations and coin each man carried. They would have enough to make it out of Far West Province if there were no delays. Once they were free from the Provinces and into the interior of the kingdom, the towns would sell food and supplies on credit. They just had to make it past Portal City, which lay at the far end of Serpent Gap.
Five nights previously, the night they fled Knobbes, Lieutenant Fahrr had called Chism up in front of the squadron before allowing any of them to rest.
“You acted rashly, once again, and drew a noble’s blood. That led to a mob in the streets and military actions by the Watch. We left people dead and injured in the streets. Not enemies, but citizens of Maravilla. You’ll face King Antion and his Council for that. But there is also the matter of endangering the lives of your squadron. You aren’t a boy anymore, Chism, even though you may be young. Every action affects each of us.”
Lieutenant Fahrr paused momentarily then continued in a more formal tone. “Would you like to state your position before the squadron discusses punishment?” He sounded hopeful and in the firelight his eyes pleaded with Chism to defend himself.
Chism nodded and turned to face the Elites and Fellows. Making his chest as prominent as possible, he strode along the line of soldiers allowing each man to study the Circle and Sword embroidered on his chest.
“Every one of you risked your life for me and I’ll never forget that. You deserve an explanation.” He didn’t have Lieutenant Fahrr’s talent for speeches. Hopefully they would catch at least a portion of the emotion he felt.
They should understand the sanctity of the Circle without the youngest of them giving a lecture. He attempted a restrained voice. “I shouldn’t have to say this. The Circle – it represents a sacred connection between every person in the kingdom. From the meanest farmer to the highest noble. A farmer raises a chicken and sells it to a trader. The trader carries it to a city and sells it to a cook who feeds an earl, a duke, or king. To complete the Circle, the king offers protection, stability, and the rule of law. The Sword sustains the Circle.”
Chism motioned to the Sword in the center of the emblem, which transected the Circle vertically, as if supporting it. The hilt rested on the bottom of the inside of the Circle and the point touched the top. “The purpose of the Sword is to defend the Circle, to ensure abuses are not committed by those who feel it’s their right to be in power. To defend against foreign threats. And to punish criminals who would endanger a peaceful way of life. It’s a fact that without the Sword, the Circle collapses.” By now he was pacing and his words were clear and sharp.
“Each one of you has taken the Sword in defense of the Circle and it is your duty to protect its integrity. Every cruelty, neglect, crime, or exploitation by a noble, parent, villain, or soldier is an offense against the Circle that connects us all.” He continued, forcing each word through clenched teeth. “
And
I will never stand idly by
.”
He wanted to shout at his squadron, make them understand. He wanted to shake or strike them.
Ulrik was the first to speak. “You have the gall to lecture us on the Circle and the Sword?”
Ander, always fair and rational, stood to diffuse the tension. “There are recourses, Chism. Mayors, magistrates, nobles, and councils to hear disputes and decide impartially.”
“The magistrates can rot with the nobles.” Chism spat in the dirt. “Most care only for themselves and their friends.”
Ulrik said in a near shout, “But it’s
their
job and
their
duty to enforce the law. And it’s yours to follow orders.”
“And what happens when they think the law isn’t for them or they won’t punish a family member?”
“Occasionally that happens. It’s a sad fact of life and it becomes their superior’s responsibility,” said Ulrik.
Chism hated to share details from his past, but he didn’t know any other way to make them understand.
“That’s not good enough. A woman in a small town with a son and a bottle-loving husband can’t leave because she fears for the life of her boy if she tries to run. Despite almost daily thrashings the town’s magistrate does nothing because the drunk is his brother. The woman is with child again, but that doesn’t stop the beatings and one day he beats her into laboring on her deathbed. Though she hasn’t reached her term, somehow the baby survives by the mercy of the magistrate’s wife, but he’s severely undersized, and…damaged.” Chism’s voice had an edge that stung with every word.
“But does the man take responsibility for his son’s flaws? Not a chance. He blames the boy for the mother’s death and one drunken night he brands his one-year-old son with a
13
. Underfed and unloved, the boy grows up hearing he’s a runt, useless, not worth the slop he’s fed. The proof is right there on the boy’s back. And the beatings continue and everyone turns a blind eye. The older brother learns to hide and the younger brother learns to fight because no one else is going to protect him.”
The tears in his eyes infuriated him. He thought he was past crying, and doing it in front of the Elites, even by torchlight, made it worse. But the story needed to be told. He threw his cloak in the dirt and in one motion swept off his tunic and turned his back to the soldiers. A mark he’d kept secret since joining the Elites was displayed in ragged numbers covering the lower half of his back.
13
.
After a few moments to compose himself, his voice was controlled and emotionless. “Years passed and that boy practiced every weapon he could get his hands on. He lived for the local competitions in javelin, archery, staves, and daggers. It was all he cared about, and one day he challenged his father.
“The man died and the boy never felt bad about it one day in his life. But suddenly the magistrate cared. He couldn’t have boys killing their fathers in his town so he planned to hang the boy.
“Two days before the scheduled execution, a squadron of Elites happened to pass through. The lieutenant was willing to defer to local justice, but one outspoken sublieu named Fahrr demanded the boy be taken before a district council. The boy’s life was spared by one rotting vote.
“Your magistrates, nobles, and councils can burn. The Circle is more vulnerable than any of you realize and I’ll defend it with my last breath.”
In a tone just a touch softer than before, Ulrik said, “You can’t deal with your own issues by assaulting every authority figure you meet, Chism.”
“This isn’t about me!” Try as he might, Chism couldn’t believe his own words entirely.
“We all have scars, lad,” said Ander.
A heated discussion ensued, some arguing that Chism was justified, others claiming he was out of control. But self-control wasn’t the issue. He could school himself as well as anyone. Better. But in cases of violation of the sacred Circle he would act every time.
Near dawn they reached a consensus. In an unprecedented arrangement, Chism would be stripped of the Circle and Sword but would remain a member of the squadron. The Elite emblem was his life, and he only took solace in the fact that he’d be a member of the Quicksilver Squadron until he stood trial. The loyalty of his brothers-in-arms was something he’d never experienced or imagined.
Hile’s Fellow, a small man named Firan provided Chism with his spare tunic and cloak and Chism reluctantly donned the emblemless uniform.
The squadron slept very little over the following four days leading up to Serpent Gap. Despite a pace that pushed the horses to near exhaustion, Duke Jaryn’s men had narrowed the gap since the night of their escape. There was no way hundreds of men could cover that much ground so quickly without leaving a trail of dead horses behind them. And any town near their path would be forced to surrender food, horses, and men to the hunt.
Chism was right about Duke Jaryn; he cared nothing for the Circle. He only cared for himself and his cursed pride. Thirsty was forged for men like him.
Serpent Gap was the only pass between two steep mountain ranges—the Wasteland Mountains to the south and the Antidiniss Mountains to the north. The gap started wide, but cinched into a trail no more than ten paces across in some parts at the bottom of the valley. The four mile pass wound blindly like a snake, offering countless sites for an effective ambush.
Ten squadrons of men could easily hide in the pass. Unfortunately, the only way to find out if word regarding the skirmish in Knobbes had reached Portal City was to spring the trap.
The Elites and Fellows had their hoods drawn, but not because of cold weather. If they marched into an ambush, the enemy would wonder which one was Chism.
With Lieutenant Fahrr in the lead, fifteen Elites and Fellows entered the gap. It was only a few miles long, but each step could lead into an ambush. From where he sat, Chism felt nervous sweat drip down the insides of his arms.
Pale sandstone cliffs hedged the squadron in on the right, black granite crags on their left. If danger arose in the Gap, there would not be time to retreat. Duke Jaryn’s men would reach the western end of the trail before Quicksilver could escape.
The first mile passed uneventfully and Chism breathed easier, starting to think the squadron might make it through the remaining three miles without incident. But by the time he noticed the ambush, there was no time to give warning.
Within a matter of a dozen heartbeats, men appeared on the trail in front, and in the cliffs that lined the trail. At least a hundred men, all armed with bows or stones, but Chism couldn’t get an accurate count because some blended into the rocks. In a fight the Elites were accustomed to ten-to-one losses, but the ten were usually on the other side. Fleeing would only expose their backs to the Militia’s arrows, and they would have to pass under scores of men who lined the canyon along the means of retreat, only to meet Jaryn’s men at the entrance to the Gap.
Lieutenant Fahrr called a stop. Words were spoken by the Elite Lieutenant and the leader of the Militia, but Chism was too far to hear. It didn’t take long for Lieutenant Fahrr to order the Elites to drop their weapons. Fifteen swords, spears, and bows fell to the rocky trail—Quicksilver Squadron was in the power of the Militia.
Four men were dispatched from the Militia’s front line. With all the confidence their stratagem afforded them, they approached each Elite and Fellow, roughly removing hoods, searching for a boy soldier. As they neared the end of the formation, Chism hoped fighting wouldn’t break out.
After unsuccessfully searching the entire squadron, the soldiers returned to their leader.
Chism smiled wryly from his concealed location half a mile up the mountain. The Militia wouldn’t find what they were looking for.
Though no horsemen had passed them with news of the events in Knobbes, messenger birds must have reached Portal City days before Quicksilver Squadron entered the Gap. Lieutenant Fahrr had been unwilling to risk Chism’s life on the slight possibility of Duke Jaryn not dispatching birds, and his decision had proven accurate. Without Chism, the Militia had no reason to detain the squadron.
The night before Quicksilver reached Serpent Gap, Lieutenant Fahrr asked Chism to swear an oath that he would go to the capital straightaway, and Chism obliged. Under Lieutenant Fahrr’s advice, Chism didn’t tell anyone his exact plan for the days following their split. The Elites and Fellows pitched in a few coins and whatever food they could spare to give Chism a chance to escape. Even Ulrik shared his rations and opened his coin purse.