Lupus Rex (16 page)

Up and off with you. See what you will today!

Ysil carefully moved out of the brush, making as little noise as possible, hoping not to awaken the others. He took to wing and flew to the tree above to get a better look around. From a good distance away he heard voices. He stealthily flew from one branch to the next, drawing closer so as to understand the voices.

“Well, you have stayed true to your word!” It was Puk. “What a nest you have shown us!”

“Yes,” said Monroth. “But be quick in your feast lest the others wake and find us here. They would not understand my leading you to such as these.”

Ysil heard a high shrill squeak and knew immediately what Monroth was doing. He had led the foxes to a den of mice. This was a dark thing for a quail to do, unheard of. Quail and other prey were bound together by like needs and common fear of predators. Monroth was breaking order. This was as great a sin as Ysil could think of. He wondered how Monroth had known of the den, then remembered his talk with Harlequin the day before. So Monroth
had
been this far. He must have traveled here often enough to learn where the mice nested.

Ysil felt the sting of Monroth’s betrayal like the stab of a bodark thorn. He ducked his head and fell to the forest floor, barely fluttering his wings, fearful his flight could be heard by foxes’ wary ears. He ran a bit back toward where the others slept before he took wing, flying as quietly as possible from tree to tree.

He settled to the ground and moved into the brush. Gomor was awake now, resting quietly. The others remained asleep.

“Where have you been?” asked Gomor. “Where are Monroth and the foxes?”

Ysil considered. He knew that if he were to tell of Monroth’s betrayal they would be forced to go on without him and the foxes. How would Harlequin take it? Could they make away before Monroth and the foxes came back? He had to think quickly. “I need to wake Cormo and Harlequin before I tell what I have seen of the foxes and Monroth,” said Ysil.

Many visions flashed through his head as he reached his wing to Harlequin’s sleeping form. The voice of Cotur Ada seemed so real, so alive. But he had surely been dreaming. He checked his grandfather’s feather within his breast. It was still there, carefully tucked away.

“Harlequin, Cormo, you must awake,” said Ysil. “We must immediately away. I have dire news to tell.”

And so, quickly, Ysil told the others of what he had seen, and Harlequin cried but said little. He had feared she would not believe. But she had not questioned him, only wept as the three quail took wing. And with the burden of the knowledge of their friend’s betrayal heavy in their hearts, they flew in the direction of the rising sun, toward the river. They went fast down the trail, now staying within the branches above, forever looking back over their shoulders to check for pursuit. On the ground, Gomor the rabbit ran and did his best to keep up with the quail.

M
ONROTH WALKED WITH
Drac and Puk through the thicket to the spot where they had left the others sleeping. When they reached the thicket, they found it empty.

Monroth stammered. This could mean only one thing: the others had found him out. He quivered, suddenly feeling more alone than ever before. He gave an awkward smile to the foxes.

Drac gaped back at Monroth. He showed his teeth. “Well, well,” he said. “It seems it’s only the three of us now.”

At this Monroth trembled.

O
PHREI SAT IN
the midst of the tree and listened to the call of the geese. They were talking of the weather to the north, how there was a storm coming. The geese above were considering taking shelter early. They would take cover in cattails beside a pond or river and let the storm pass. Ophrei cursed the coming storm. But he felt that any storm of snow, rain, or wind was not the one to be concerned with. And though dark was still many hours away, he was sleepy and dazing. The sun was hot, and even though the day’s warmth was not near its full, he felt within his bones the chill of winter as if the snow had already fallen.

The words and melody of the quail would not leave his mind. They played over and over in his head, and his heart was beating like a woodpecker’s hammering beak.

At that moment a dove flew into the tree and settled down on the branch next to him. It fluttered to him and moved its beak nigh to the rook’s ear. When he ceased his whisper, he flew away.

Ophrei sat and considered what the dove had told him and all it meant.

Nascus flew into the tree and landed next to Ophrei.

“Ophrei,” said the prince, “shall I bring you some grain? Can I offer you any solace for this worry you wear upon your face?”

“The solace I seek will come with the sleep of death, my King in waiting,” said Ophrei.

“Why do you speak in such dark tones? Surely the General has a plan in place for capturing and returning my brother?”

“The General’s plans are in place, yes. And were these days as those before, I am certain that capturing the renegade would not be hard.” Ophrei looked off and considered. “There is a storm coming, and the animals of the field may not make it back before its arrival. They may also encounter another storm . . .”

“Sage, you speak in riddles,” said Nascus. “What is bothering you beyond the treachery of my brother?”

“My King, we must prepare,” said the old rook with sudden resolve. “I will speak now a tale. Take from it what you may.”

The rook closed his eyes and ruffled out his feathers. There was a gust of wind, and after that all fell deadly still.

“Once there was a small tree at the edge of a great, deep forest. And within the tree was a hollowed-out place. Within the hollow was a robin’s nest. The old mother robin raised many chicks in the nest and took a great pleasure in it. She kept care of her children and grandchildren and loved them with a true heart. There came a day when the leaves were golden and the wind so still that she sat at the base of the tree and watched her babes playing and searching for worms and grubs. She was weakened and tired and fell to sleep below the branches. She dreamed that the earth gave up its bounty and worms were crawling out from everywhere. She and her brood harvested every worm that crawled out and filled their bellies. She slept on and on, her dream so sweet and full of bounty. While she slept, there came a migration of eagles and they descended upon her babes and took them all, not leaving one. She awoke to find herself alone. Within the nest was one last egg, but she had been so consumed with her other children she had not sat upon it. When she went to warm it she found the chick within dead. She sat in the tree all winter and did not eat. Come spring, a man cut down the tree and burned it. Her body and that of her dead chick he burned also.”

Ophrei hopped down and pecked at his nest. He removed a strip of bark and replaced it with another. He flicked out a spiderweb and settled in.

Nascus ogled the old rook. “You speak of our tree, that a dark time is upon us. This I can gather from your tale. But who are the eagles? There are no eagles in this place.”

“Nascus, we have been asleep for too long,” said Ophrei. “We are fattened and the lesser animals abounding are fattened likewise. We have seen these days as a golden harvest, as our due reward in life. But we have not prepared for what must come. We have been but dreaming.” He settled uncomfortably into his nest, his voice lowered to a whisper.

Nascus watched him thoughtfully.

“A day is upon us,” he went on, “that few have dreaded. We have been too secure in our lives.”

“What do you speak of?” asked Nascus. “What day are you meaning? Surely my brother and his forces can be defeated.”

“Your brother, I am afraid, is but a small part of the evil,” said the rook. “He is on his way back to us even now. If it were but he and his band, we would prepare for the battle and go to the task. But there is a much greater threat. Your brother now flies above an army much greater than any he could muster alone. I am afraid his small band is to be counted among one much greater. The doves have told me. The old quail was no fool. The wolf is returning.”

Chapter Twelve

The True Order

D
RAC,
M
ONROTH, AND
Puk set out after the quail, the birds’ scent still fresh in the air. They went on for a distance. Then Drac stopped and turned to Monroth.

“Was this quest you were on with the others your own, quail?” he asked. “Was the old bird your grandfather?”

“No, he was not,” said Monroth.

“Then why do we pursue the birds?” asked Drac. “Let us instead keep a pace away and wait on the trail for their return. Perhaps they have lost their trust in you, eh? Maybe one of them saw us a-feastin’ on those mice you took us to, eh?”

So the fox had come to the same conclusion he had. “Yes, I suppose that must be why.” And when he spoke his agreement aloud, he realized were it true, his life from now on would be forever changed. Once the others told the covey of his betrayal, he would be cast out.
Once they told the others . . .
Then the thought came to him:
What if Ysil, Cormo, and Harlequin never made it back to the field?
What if he were to turn them over to the foxes and beg them kill them? The thought made him even colder inside. He could almost imagine doing such a thing to Ysil and Cormo. What benefit were they, anyway? But to Harlequin? She must surely hold some use to him still. And besides, he desired her as mate. If she had not been the one to observe his sedition, could he convince her that he was only protecting her by turning Ysil and Cormo over to the foxes? Possibly he could, yes. Then another thought occurred to Monroth:
What if the others never came back from their mission to the hawk?

“Yes,” said Monroth. “Let’s stay on the trail and wait for their return.” He needed time to think over his choices.

G
OMOR PANTED AND
ran, hopping fast to keep up with the quail in the trees above.
Why am I here?
he thought. Since the quail had fled the brush, leaving Monroth and the foxes behind, he had been asking himself this same question over and over. He knew that the journey they were on was dangerous, and since danger was all a rabbit knew anyway, at least this was normal. But why seek out more? Most rabbits’ lives were short and ended painfully. He had always accepted this; still, he wanted to enjoy the life he had. He lived for his friends—that was true—and would protect them if needed. Still, this was not his fight. If the hawk were to return to the field, it could only mean the loss of numerous rabbits to its talons. Yet he understood the wisdom Cotur Ada had lent them and the importance of following his dying command. The command of a grandfather was always to be followed, even if death were sure from its following. He steadied his resolve and ran on, the quail high above looking down to him regularly to see if he was still below.

Ysil landed in a great maple and looked down to Gomor. “Let’s rest for a bit,” he called, then flew down beside his good-natured companion. “We should be far enough away now that we can at least slow. But we must stay ahead. I’m not certain that Monroth will pursue us, but he likely will. He may also take it as a chance to be done with this quest. Gomor, I believe his treachery is long-lived, past and future.”

Harlequin and Cormo flew down. Ysil quieted. When Harlequin lit next to him, Gomor felt a rush of peace move through him.

She smiled at him. “Quite a run, Gomor. Never thought you would keep up.”

“Me neither,” said Ysil. “But we really had no choice. We don’t know if Monroth and the foxes are just at our tail.”

“It is a sad thing to be running from a friend, but the saddest thing I feel,” said Harlequin, “is the realization that if he has betrayed the mice, he may betray us just as easily. He may have already done as much.” She stared down to the dry earth at her feet.

Gomor knew she was sad. The place she had in her heart for Monroth was now empty. “Certainly he has not betrayed us,” he said. “He has little regard for mice, but he would not betray his own kind.”

“How can we be certain, Gomor?” asked Cormo. “In some ways, the mice
are
our kind.”

Gomor was silent. Harlequin continued to look down.

“We can’t be certain he has not,” said Ysil.

They continued on at a quick pace but stayed on the ground. They followed the trail in the direction from where the sun rises. The day wore on and a cool wind came. With it, rolling clouds and a chill. They kept pace with the wind as best they could, at times flying, at times running. They were tired but kept going, the command of Cotur Ada driving them.

At three-quarter sun, they crested the top of a small rise and suddenly were astounded by the view of the Great River below. They had made a good distance in a short time. It meandered through the valley, snaking its way from one direction to another, then made a vast loop in its turnings, creating a great peninsula of land. They could see the trail going down through the trees and winding to the muddy edge of the water.