Chapter 26: One Chance to Win
After sunset that same day, Hugo pushed aside the pliant branches of a leatherleaf bush to peer out at the Harmonian camp.
The invaders had picked a large swathe of open ground surrounding a hillock - ironically named Bear Mountain by Hugo's people. They had stamped low the tall grasses to a distance of a hundred yards in every direction surrounding their camp. Row upon row of tents dotted the grassy field, with firelight from dozens of camp fires casting bright orange and yellow hues against their canvas walls. Picket fences lined two sides of the camp, where scores of battle ready war horses grazed, guarded by spear-wielding cavalrymen. Hugo's eyes tracked upwards, onto the top of Bear Mountain, where Bishop Sasarai's command tent stood.
Dry leaves crunched underfoot behind Hugo as Chris pushed up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "A hundred yards of open ground from the edge of camp to the tall grasses. But there is no light except for what the patrolmen carry. Perhaps the Harmonians fear a brush fire." Chris had donned an outfit of dark earth-colored Karayan work clothes. The loose, ill-fitting garb erased her feminine forms, but the clothes suited their night operation far better than her own travel outfit. She had pulled her silvery hair into a tail at the nape of her neck. In spite of it all, her large eyes shone in the midst of shadow and moonlight.
Hugo tore his eyes from Chris to watch the army camp. He squinted against the pinpricks of light from the patrolmen's torches. The patrolmen moved in pairs, and from a distance, it was easy to imagine that they were fireflies dancing in wide circles around the camp. He could spot at least forty lights bobbing about in the darkness surrounding the Harmonian camp. There was a pattern to it. Every now and then two pairs of torches would meet at some prearranged point, exchange a few words, and then head back the way they came. Occasionally the murmur of conversation reached Hugo and Chris where they sat at the edge of the woods.
Hugo turned from his spot and pushed back through the trees, shifting branches aside to reach the small clearing that sheltered Fubar. Hugo stroked his friend's head soothingly. The griffin leaned his head against his hand, eyes narrowing in contentment.
"Alright, Fubar. We're going in. You wait for my signal, okay?" Fubar made no reply, just kept looking at Hugo, but he knew his friend had understood him. Hugo felt the smooth bone whistle in his pocket, comforted by its presence. He ran his hand over Fubar's back. Below his feathered head, the griffin's hide was lathered with sweat. Fubar had flown this way three times tonight, each time carrying Hugo and a passenger. Lucia and Rina had suggested the assassination, but it was Hugo who had insisted on taking the lead. The women had fretted and argued about it til their faces turned blue, but in the end it was Fubar who made the raid possible. And Fubar trusted only Hugo.
Chris leaned against an oak tree, watching him. "Are you prepared?"
Hugo turned slowly from his friend. The others would be in position now, and starting to make their way into camp. It was all up to Chris and Hugo now. Hugo had fought for this opportunity to prove himself, but now that it had arrived, he found his mouth filled with ashes. With great effort, he pushed the feeling down, and gave a nod. "We'll make a dash for it."
Hugo led the way out from the trees. Chris followed in step at his side as they crept from the woods and bent low to crawl through the waist-high grass. Now and then something small retreated from them, flitting underfoot. Snakes or mice, Hugo guessed. He didn't think Chris had noticed, and didn't say anything either.
At the edge of the tall grass, Hugo stopped, and waited for Chris to catch up. Through the grass he could see the patrolmen up close now, strolling side by side and chatting in low voices while holding their torches up to push back the darkness. Neither man spared anything more than the occasional glance at the edge of the woods and the tall grasses where Hugo and Chris hid. The torches would do little to help their vision beyond the camp.
Ahead of them, another pair was headed on a collision course. The two pairs met by a small rock marking the boundary of their patrol route. Hugo could barely make out the words.
"The night is calm. Blessings be to the Absolute One, may he be eternal." The other pair echoed the same words. Then the four patrolmen relaxed and exchanged some informal chatter, before turning on their heels and marching away.
Hugo waited for ten surprisingly fast heartbeats, then he tapped Chris on the arm and rose into a crouching position, just barely hidden by the tall grasses. He heard the rustle of movement at his side, but didn't dare look at anything but straight ahead. He could see a clear path now, straight between where the guardsmen had just met, and in among the dark and quiet tents at the outskirts of the Harmonian camp.
Hugo held his breath, then sprang from the grasses.
At first he dared only tiptoe across the open ground. But as the soldiers kept moving, Hugo's boldness grew. He picked up his pace, feeling more than seeing Chris just behind him, and soon enough he was running. He realized he was still holding his breath, and sucked desperately for air, trying to keep his breathing still and quiet.
They reached the camp and hurried in among the tents. Hugo picked the route, bending low along the canvas and creeping from shadow to shadow. Tent ropes snared Hugo's feet more than once as they moved, and he kept glancing back at Chris to make sure she wouldn't trip.
Coming out into a narrow lane between tents, Hugo heard the crunch of boots and peered left to see a squad of soldiers marching their way. He spun around and ducked into the tent, dragging Chris with him into the darkness. It was only while they huddled there, hands clasped and hearts beating fast while waiting for the soldiers to pass, that he noticed the snoring around him. When Hugo's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the blanket-wrapped mounds of six Harmonian soldiers fast asleep on the floor of the tent. The nearest man lay no more than a foot away.
Chris parted the tent flap, careful not to let the torchlight outside strike the sleeping soldiers' faces. She ducked her head out and looked around. After a moment, she gestured for Hugo to follow, and slipped out of the tent.
They dashed across the wide lane and onto the base of Bear Mountain. Scrambling up the hill, Hugo overtook Chris. He held his breath as the light of a nearby torch briefly illuminated their dashing forms. Then they gained the shadow of a large tent.
Sagging against the canvas wall of a tent, Hugo stilled his breathing and gathered his wits. Looking up the hill, he saw Sasarai's command tent at the top, just past a meandering line of officers' tents.
Hugo crept forward, step by step. If they stuck to the craggy ground behind the tents, away from the path, they should be able to-
Hugo's boot caught on something. He cursed silently even as he fell. Then he heard a grunt, as from an unknown man, and his blood froze. Spinning around, Hugo has enough time to see that he'd tripped over a man in a blue tabard. The soldier had been slumped against the back of the tent.
The soldier rose unsteadily, shaking sleep from his eyes and muttering.
Hugo cursed his luck. He leaped upon the soldier and knocked him to the ground. The soldier reacted with instinctive rage, spinning around and sitting on top of Hugo. Damn, but he was strong. He couldn't reach his daggers, either. Hugo saw the man open his mouth and had just enough time to ram his fist into the soldier's mouth, muffling the words into a pained groan. He felt something give, and thought he might have knocked a tooth loose, too. His hand hurt.
Hugo gripped the soldier's throat in a stranglehold. The man's hands clasped around Hugo's neck in return, his eyes flashing hotly. The soldier no longer thought to call for help. Rage boiled behind his eyes as he choked Hugo.
Hugo struggled to breathe. Panic welled up from inside. His vision began to blur at the edges. He felt faint, and his arms went numb, as when you wake in the middle of the night after having slept on a limb.
Crack. There was a sound like a vase shattering. The soldier's limbs turned to water, and he collapsed onto Hugo like an exhausted lover.
Hugo gasped for breath. He pushed the man aside, and clutched at his bruised throat. His vision doubled, then began to clear, resolving into the image of Chris standing over him. Stars wheeled in the night sky around her beautiful face. The few remaining shards of a broken clay jug still clung to the handle in her hand.
"Nicely done," he said, his voice little more than a croak.
Chris dropped the remains of the jug and reached down to pull him to his feet. "Are you alright?" she whispered.
Hugo fought a splitting headache as he struggled onto his feet. He shook his head. "I feel dizzy. You sure you didn't hit me too?"
Chris said nothing. Instead she took his head in her hands and peered deep into his eyes, her own features drawn into a worried configuration, as though searching for signs of damage. "You will be fine, I think. And, you are welcome." She motioned away from the tent. "Quick, they will have heard the urn breaking."
"We'll have to hide the body," Hugo hissed. He bent down to drag the limp form of the soldier from his resting spot. Chris hesitated, then took the man's other arm. They could hear soldiers' voices somewhere nearby, calling out in surprise.
Not far from there, they found a deep, freshly dug trough. They dumped the unconscious body inside. The latrine pit stunk of offal, and Hugo had to wave dung flies from his face as he slunk off behind a large tent. With any luck, by the time anyone found the body, they'd be long gone. Besides, they were about to stir up even bigger trouble.
Hugo looked up at the slope of the hill. He could see the pennants waving from the Bishop's command tent now, fluttering in the night breeze, its gold trim glittering in the torchlight. They were near.
Hugo scanned the side of the hill, searching the folds of the earth for a route to the top that wasn't cut off by the canvas of tents placed entirely too close to the edge of the escarpment. He found his path in a crevice in the exposed bedrock jutting out from the hillside. There, the rock was broken into five steps, like some natural staircase ascending Bear Mountain. Shadows clung to the crevice, and its top step would emerge on the doorstep of the Bishop's command tent.
Hugo pointed at the formation and motioned for Chris to follow. Crouching low to the ground, they made their way along the trough.
They were halfway to the crevice an agitated cry rose from somewhere behind. The crunch of boots running over gravel filled the night.
Hugo froze in mid-step. Chris bumped into his back, then steadied herself on his shoulder. Hugo bent low and dared a glance back.
"Over there!" someone shouted. Hugo's heart caught in his throat when he saw it. Four spear tips bobbing and weaving with the movements of their wielders behind the nearest tent. In a moment, the soldiers would clear the canvas wall and come out into the open. There would be no cover to shield Chris and Hugo from their eyes.
Nothing, except the trough beside them.
Hugo made a snap decision. He hooked his arm around Chris' waist, and rolled into the trough. He said a prayer to the spirits that he would not feel anything soft or moist glomp and squish against his back. He landed painfully at the bottom, and heaved a sigh of relief. This stretch of the latrine had not yet been put to use.
Chris came to rest on top of him. Her weight pressed comfortably on his chest and stomach, her cheek touching his as she pressed herself flat against him. Hugo lay perfectly still, his hand still wrapped around her waist. He dared not breathe. He felt Chris' hot breath against his ear. The knight's breathing was calm and measured, and almost inaudible. Despite the terror of the situation, Hugo found blood rushing to parts of his body that could not help but enjoy the feel of a woman's body pressed against his.
The soldiers shouts rang through the night. Slowly, cautiously, Hugo shifted his position so that Chris and he were both lying on their sides, facing each other. This allowed Hugo to inch his head up for a careful glance outside the trough.
Hugo's blood just about froze in his veins. No more than four feet away, the mailed boots of a Harmonian soldier stood planted in the grass beside the trough. Hugo ducked his head back down, thanking the spirits for the shadows that obscured him from the soldier's view.
Chris caught his eye and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Very slowly, Hugo shook his head, pressing a hand against her shoulder. She felt stiff, frozen in an awkward position.
For a long moment, they lay there, eyes alternately staring and darting away from each other. Footfalls thudded nearby. Sometimes, the soldiers would pass so close to the trough, they could hear the sound of their labored breaths. Hugo desperately hoped that his own breathing did not sound as loud.
Chris' face might as well have been carved from stone. Her eyes were as wide as a cat's. He could only imagine what she saw on his face. The same stone mask, he hoped. Could she see how frightened he was?
Hugo had begun to feel light headed by the time the footsteps faded into the night. His lungs hurt. A soldier shouted, "Nothing here!"
Hugo held his breath for another five heartbeats, then dared to expel it. He breathed in Chris's relief when next he drew air.
They sprang from the trough like birds liberated from a cage. Chris brushed down her clothes, wiping grass and dirt from the fabric. All around them, the moonlight revealed muddy boot prints where the soldiers had churned the grassy dirt.
They reached the crevice without further incident. In his eagerness, Hugo very nearly leaped onto the jagged steps of the crevice. He hoisted himself up with an unnatural fervor born from his racing heart. As a child he'd once held a captive bunny by the neck, as the creature shivered and shuddered with fear and exhaustion. The little bunny's pulse had pounded like thunder on a stormy night. That's how Hugo felt now.
Hugo reached the narrow lane above the crevice and crept forward. Chris followed close behind, her boots shuffling and shifting against low grass, canvas, and taut rope. Hugo peered out from the lane, and stopped.
There, twenty feet ahead, lay the command tent. Bishop Sasarai's tent. Torches ringed the pavilion, lending it an unearthly glow. The light glinted off the gold thread and cream-colored canvas, making it look like a spire of alabaster and gold, rippling in the faint breeze. And at the top, the Harmonian Bishop's own pennant fluttered, in blue and white with gold trim - the crown atop the spire.
Hugo hesitated before the sight. It was a sobering reminder of the power of Harmonia, but even more so, it was a pointed reminder of the power of the man who slept within. Hugo tried to picture the scene his mother had recounted late last night, when she returned, ashen-faced, from her meeting with the bishop. An entire hill, not unlike Bear Mountain upon which Hugo and Chris now stood. Gone. In mere moments. Such was the power of the True Runes. Hugo fought down his fear, clutching the hilt of his dagger.
Even a True Rune Bearer would die, should his throat be pierced by steel.
Hugo's eyes fell from the top of the tent to the gleaming blue-and-white armor of the soldiers arrayed outside the Bishop's tent. One man, Hugo could handle. No matter how strong or well-trained. With stealth or speed or strength, he could match him. Four veteran soldiers were another matter entirely. Armed, armored, and imposing, they stood watch over their charge like hunting hawks.
The soldiers reminded Hugo of tiny soldiers carved from ebony. Jimba had brought a handful of them back from a trip to the market villages across the border with Tinto. Lu and Hugo had turned the tiny men over in their hands, marveling at the smoothness of their stern black features. The bishop's sentinels wore polished steel breastplates over leather jerkins dyed a Harmonian blue. Long swords with blue tassels peeked out of ornate sheaths hanging from their hips. Steel-rimmed shields were strapped to their backs. The 42nd Squad. Bishop Sasarai's private guard - the "Earth's Fist." Caesar had called them the most dangerous men in Sasarai's army.
"Good luck," Caesar had said. "Though I don't think you'll make it." Caesar ran a hand through his unruly red hair. Smiling a lop-sided smile, he said, "You think I'm glum? Well. I know a thing or two about Harmonians. And I know a thing or two about my brother. He'll have thought about the possibility of a nightly assassination attempt."
When Hugo had protested, Caesar had shrugged. "Go on, ignore my warnings. Just promise me this. Don't underestimate the Earth's Fist. Bishop Sasarai's private guard might look flashy in their polished armor, but they're anything but ceremonial."
Caesar's eyes went hard. "If you wanna strike at the bishop, you gotta do it fast. Don't give them even a second to react."
Now, watching the motionless men of the 42nd Squad, Hugo felt a dryness in his throat. He glanced back at Chris, there by his side. Her presence was a comfort. He searched her eyes, glinting darkly in the shadows. He could read nothing of her thoughts, except the tension in her body.
Hugo nodded, and waited for her to return the gesture. "Do it," he whispered. The moment the words were past his lips, he tensed, and held his breath. Waiting.
Chris hiked up her sleeves to her elbows, exposing the Water Rune on her right hand. She closed her eyes and called on the rune's power. A faint blue light spread from the back of her palm, pale and mystical. Chris thrust out her hand in a stabbing motion, towards the Bishop's tent.
Water erupted in a torrent from Chris's hand. It gathered in a wave, and shot forward. The wave broke against the tent, drenching the canvas, splashing around it. The torches sputtered and went dark as the flames gasped for breath, then extinguished. The tent and its surrounding lanes were cast into shadow.
Four cries of shock came from the soldiers. Then, a heartbeat later, a rallying cry to their right, below the hill, at the opposite edge of the camp.
Mother had set her diversion into motion.
Hugo launched from his hiding place, a naked blade in each hand. He closed the gap in three steps. The world seemed to slow as the Earth's Fist soldier sensed his presence. The soldier's gloved hand moved for the sword at his hip. Hugo crushed his elbow into the man's face. He flicked his other blade into a downward stabbing motion. The soldier staggered back with a grunt. Hugo drove the knife into his exposed neck. The soldier sagged, then slumped with a gurgling noise.
Chris had struck like lightning released from a bottle. Suddenly the knight captain was beside Hugo. Her sword blade flicked, opening a gaping wound in another soldier's flank. There was a cry of pain, and blood spattered the shadowed grass.
Someone cried out in surprise. The two remaining soldiers came running around the tent. All around them, the camp erupted into chaos. Dozens of voices raised the alarm, while others ran wildly among the tents. Shouts of confusion mingled with officers' orders. The camp was in an uproar. Within moments, a runner would show up, bearing a message for the bishop. If the calamity hadn't already roused Sasarai.
Hugo threw the tent flap aside and dashed into the pavilion's dark interior.
With eyes adjusted to torchlight, the contents of the darkened pavilion appeared only as indistinct shapes to Hugo. A desk, a chair. He knocked his head against an unlit lantern swinging from the ceiling. There, a bed. Hugo leaped at it, tore at the linen.
Nothing. The bed was empty.
Hugo wheeled around. Chris remained outside. The clang of steel on steel reached his ears. Shadows of battling figures were cast against the canvas walls. His blood froze with desperation. Where? He spun around, scanning the tent's interior. Was there a faint shape…?
A pale light blossomed in the dark. The complex shape of a rune sprung to life in midair, washing the tent's contents in its sickly glow. The True Earth Rune. A gloved fist hovered in the dark behind it, and there behind the fist, Hugo could make out the Bishop's disembodied face, ghostly in the pale light.
A cold smile played on Sasarai's lips.
Lucia nocked and drew, holding the feathers of the arrow against her cheek. She sighted along the shaft, seeing through the flame that flickered on the pitch-soaked rag at the tip of the arrow. She aimed at the tents.
Nash stood beside her, holding a similar bow. Their first volleys had kindled a flame upon the distant canvas, setting off a reaction much like the kicking of an ant-hill. As soon as the lights atop Bear Mountain had gone dark, they had launched their attack.
The signal sent, Lucia now prayed to the spirits that her son would get out of there alive. It was a struggle to keep her hands steady, but she would manage. For her son, she would manage.
Lucia let fly the arrow, then immediately plucked another from the quiver at her hip. She lit the rag on the smoldering campfire at her feet. The pitch ignited, and she felt the flame warming her skin through her gloves. They knelt amid a grove of immature oaks, huddling at the campfire, with leatherleaf bushes shielding their position.
A bowstring thrummed beside her as Nash let loose another arrow. Cover or not, the Harmonians would have already spotted them by the flames from their arrows and their fire, of course. But it didn't matter. Their attack on the Harmonian camp was meant as little more than a diversion. All that mattered was their true aim, the assassination of Bishop Sasarai.
Lucia wished with all her might that she could have been the one to guard her son's back. Placing her son's safety in the hands of the Ironhead girl felt all wrong, like leaving a baby with a lion. She did not doubt the knight captain's skill, but could she be trusted? She'd had no choice. As much as it pained her to admit it, tonight, more was at stake than the life of her son.
Someone had to ensure that the diversion went off without a hitch. Lucia stole a sideways glance at Nash, who ignited another arrow in the fire. The blond's knowledge of the Harmonian camp was invaluable, but she couldn't trust an outsider to such a task. Not with so much at stake.
Soldiers milled about the burning tents, carrying water to fight the flames. Closer yet, she saw torches crossing the open field. Soldiers, heading their way. Stray arrows whistled nearby as Harmonian bowmen took aim at the woods. Soon, they would have to abandon this position. But not just yet.
Lucia nocked the arrow, sighted along the shaft. By rote repetition, she did what her father had taught her. Nock, draw, aim, release. She could not still her beating heart, but by the spirits, she could shoot.
"I was beginning to wonder," said Bishop Sasarai, "when you would show up."
Hugo charged the Bishop. Or, he tried to. Something tugged at his foot, and he nearly toppled forward. Hugo looked down, saw raw soil, pebbles and twigs and all, clutching his leg. He leaned forward, tried to reach for Sasarai with his steel. He swiped air. The earth churned like a restless stomach. Bringing his other hand forward in a swift arc, Hugo threw his other blade. Tried to. Something gripped his hand, forced it back. Hugo felt something constrict his waist, looked down. His body was trapped, wrapped in hard-packed dirt, like Ironhead armor.
Panic tore through his anger. Hugo snarled, and struggled against his earthen prison. Dirt loosened, clay cracked, but new mass was churned out from below to replace the loose clumps. Trapped, Hugo could only watch as the earth rose around his torso, until it trapped him all the way to the neck.
"Karayan," Sasarai mused. The Bishop seemed in no hurry to finish him off. He stood rigid, majestic, right arm raised to present his fist. His other hand rested on his back. "The son of Chief Lucia, I believe. Your name has figured in my reports. Especially the one from earlier tonight."
Hugo felt panic rise. Sasarai's loamy tomb had stopped at his neck, but as he struggled against the dense earth, Hugo could imagine the moist dirt climbing his jaw, his cheeks, his ears. Was it a figment of his fear-ridden imagination? Never in his life had he felt so helpless. Where was Chris? He thought he'd heard a pained gurgle just before. Footsteps outside. Whose death cry? Who would soon burst into the tent? Playing for time, Hugo said, "What are you going to do with me?" The words came out hoarse and constrained, the earth pressing against his windpipe.
Sasarai was quiet for a time. Then he said, "The true question is, what shall we do with the clans? I have tried to show mercy. And yet, Chief Lucia sends her own son to stab me in my sleep. This can not go unpunished. The time for mercy is past, I'm afraid. Your people will be slaves in Harmonia. And so will-"
There came the sound of slashed canvas. A rip opened in the tent wall behind the Bishop. A sword poked through, then an arm, a person. Chris tore an opening with her free hand. She lunged into the tent, stabbing her sword at Sasarai's back.
The bishop turned. Surprise registered briefly on his face. He recovered quickly. The bishop swayed to one side, and Chris's sword passed a quarter of an inch beside his belly.
Sasarai responded with the swiftness of a viper. The True Earth Rune glowed bright. The earth buckled beneath Chris's feet, sending her tumbling forward. A spray of rocks shot from the ground, clattering against Chris's armor as they pummeled her. The knight groaned and sank to her knees. Sasarai swept his hand up, eyes focused on Chris's kneeling form. The earth began to roil, rising to embrace the knight.
A wave of anger came over Hugo, blood rushing to his head. He gathered his strength, then twisted. Pain shot up his leg, but he felt the earth tear and give, falling off in clumps. Powering forward, Hugo tore free of the True Earth Rune's hold. He saw the Bishop's head turn. The look of calm upon Sasarai's face chilled Hugo.
Hugo thrust his hand into a breast pocket, whipped out the small bone whistle within. Bringing it to his mouth, he blew on the mouthpiece, producing a loud and shrill thrilling sound from the bird whistle.
Momentary confusion passed over Sasarai's features. For the first time, Hugo saw the man frown. Then the bishop awakened his True Earth Rune to a flare, and Hugo felt his limbs freeze in position, once more wrapped in hard-packed soil. The embrace was tighter now, squeezing harder. He heard Chris gasp for breath.
"It is useless," said Sasarai. "Your allies will not reach you here." He turned his face to Chris, shook his head. "Chris Lightfellow, of the Knights of Zexen. Such a gift. My lady, you have greatly simplified my work by coming here tonight." There was no malice in his words, merely statement of fact. "I cannot imagine how you intended to…" Sasarai trailed off. He frowned, eyes lifting and scanning the tent's roof as if he had suddenly been reminded of something forgotten. Sasarai stared up at the roof. "Ah. I see-"
That was as far as the Bishop got before the tent was ripped from the ground.
"KWEEEE!" Fubar called. The griffin tore the tent from its moorings, then dropped it back down. The canvas rippled and flowed, landing in a tousled heap atop the three people inside, covering them.
The soil that encased Hugo suddenly went soft. Slashing with twin blades, Hugo shredded canvas and stood up, brushing loose dirt from hands and legs. Two other forms struggled beneath the canvas, shapeless forms bulging where arms and knees struggled for freedom.
Hugo recognized Chris from the sound of her grunts, and ran over to her. "Don't move! I'll cut you loose!"
Fubar alighted nearby and shook himself while Hugo slashed at the canvas, tearing open a gash large enough to reach in and take Chris by the hand. She started to rise, sheathing her sword. Then the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. Sasarai. Hugo shifted from side to side, balancing against the tremors. Chris tumbled from his grip.
The earth groaned and crunched like giant teeth grinding stones. A narrow form rose from beneath the canvas, bulging it. Like a tent pole, it peaked the fabric, and began to grow in height. The pole became a flagstaff, then a spire. With a rumble, the earthen nail rose into the night sky, raising the canvas off the ground.
Fubar trotted back, leaping off the canvas. Hugo sheathed his knives and sprang onto the beast's back, watching the spire lift the remains of the tent like the bedding of a man suddenly startled from a shallow sleep. The canvas tripped Chris's leg. She cried out, slipped and fell, and lifted into the air, caught in the tangle. She hung upside down, wiggling and swinging as canvas and rope held her leg in place.
"Fubar!" Hugo called out. With a gentle tap of his heels he spurred the beast into the air, towards Chris.
Bishop Sasarai rose to his feet at the base of the spire, standing watch like an actor at curtain call. The True Earth Rune flashed in the night. Dirt and stone tore loose from the ground, growing and taking shape. A fist of earth, reaching and grasping for Fubar.
Hugo commanded his friend higher, leaning out of his seat towards Chris. The knight doubled over in an attempt to reach her leg, clawing uselessly at the rope tying her foot in place. Her sword hung uselessly at her hip, too clumsy to use upside down in mid-air. Hugo reached out, placed his arms beneath her legs and back, lifting her up to slacken the rope. He glanced down, saw Sasarai's earthen fist close upon them, mere inches from Fubar's leg. The fist unclenched, and continued to rise.
"Can you reach my knife?" Hugo said. "The one on my back."
Fubar hovered there, flapping his wings. Chris fumbled along Hugo's back. "Almost…!" she grunted. Her fingers grasped and clawed for the hilt. Hugo could feel the blade slipping out half an inch, then sliding back into its sheath. Once, then twice again in rapid succession. "Got it!" she cried out. The dagger slid from Hugo's sheath and into Chris's hand.
"KWEE!" Fubar called. Hugo felt a jerking motion, and lost his grip on Chris. Hugo glanced down, and his heart leaped into his throat at the sight. Sasarai's earthen fist grasped Fubar's leg, dragging the griffin down.
Hugo swung around atop Fubar. He clutched at his friend's feathers, climbing down his back. Reaching down, he slipped his other knife from its sheath. He saw the earth fist up close now. Its three fingers grasped Fubar in a painful and unyielding grip. But just below the fingers, the earthen nail ended in a joint of three flat rocks.
Taking a tight grip on Fubar's free foot against the jerking motions of Sasarai's fist, Hugo dangled below the beast and swung towards the giant fist. He struck his knife deep, wedging it in the gap he'd found between the rocks. Then he jerked the hilt up and down, hard as he could. He felt the stone give, felt the joint stretch and break. Almost. He watched the steel blade with wide eyes, praying it would not break.
Fubar cried out in rage and fear as the fist shook him, tossed him, dragged him down towards the earth. Hugo's skin soaked with sweat at the thought. If they were grounded, it was all over. Sweat running around his eyes, Hugo wiggled his knife back and forth, as if pulling out a tooth. His fingers cramped around Fubar's leg as he worked the blade.
There. With the sweetest crack, the rocks came loose, dirt pouring from the joint as it broke. The fist unraveled, its fingers loosening and coming apart to rain dirt and stones onto the ground below. Hugo sheathed his knife and spared only a single glance at the ground before scampering up onto Fubar's back. Two, maybe three yards above the ground. Dangerously close. Sasarai stood there, watching them attentively as he worked his magic. Hugo swallowed.
Chris had been fighting her own battle against the rope binding her to the canvas. Once more hanging from a taut rope tangled about her boot, Chris lashed out violently at the cordage with Hugo's knife. Slashing, hacking, sawing, she had worn the rope to a thin thread. With one final swing, Chris snapped the thread.
She screamed as she fell.
Hugo pressed his fingers against Fubar's neck, urging his friend forward. The griffin beat its wings, shooting up like an arrow. Fubar sailed beneath Chris's falling body, intercepting her. Chris landed on the beast's feathered flank, grasping madly. Her fingers dug painfully into the griffin's feathers and skin, and Fubar shrieked in pain.
Chris slipped from her precarious perch. Hugo wound his arm around her waist, desperate to stop her fall before the wind snatched her away. She reached up, and they clasped each other's wrists. With a great heave, Chris pulled herself up, and into his arms. For a moment, they clung to each other like frightened children. Chris's arms embraced him, almost crushing him. At that moment, it was the most comforting feeling Hugo could imagine.
They winged away in the night sky. The feeling of having escaped death's clutches, and the wind howling in his ears, was exhilarating. But with each stroke of Fubar's wings, Hugo's heart sank deeper into despair. Alive, they were, but their mission had failed.
Chisha would fall.
Lucia remembered the story of the hunter who set an ambush for the grizzly, only to be cornered in the beast's lair. Clasping her mouth to silence her ragged breathing, Lucia remained as still as a deer sensing the hunter. The branches swayed beneath her weight, but made no sound.
When the Harmonian soldiers fell upon them, Lucia and Nash had bolted into the woods, making good on their retreat. They had underestimated the Harmonian readiness. There were far too many soldiers, ranging too far afield. Lucia smelled a trap.
Somewhere along the line, bolting through near pitch darkness with only faint moonlight and the stars peeking through gaps in the canopy, Lucia and Nash had become separated. Lucia had felt her way through the woods, crashing through branches, leaping stone and brush, crashing through underbrush. She'd stumbled a dozen times or more, tearing her clothes and at one time scuffing her knee. The Harmonians were not at home in the woods, did not know these trees like Lucia did. But even a Karayan had her limits. In night's embrace, even a brisk jog was too fast a pace for the forest to sustain.
When the torchlight faded from view, she'd had to slow down or risk knocking herself out against wide tree trunks and steep boulders. Even navigating the leatherleafs and silverthorn bushes proved cumbersome. She'd slowed to a crawl, sneaking from tree to tree while remaining ahead of the Harmonian search party and their torches.
She had heard shouts now and then, over the shuffle and rustle of soldiers wading through the thick undergrowth. "Find them!" "The Bishop wants her alive!" "They're here somewhere!"
Lucia knew she could not elude them forever. Pulse pounding, she'd picked out a sturdy oak and gently scaled its rugged bark, secreting herself away among the thick-leafed lower branches. She now sat, waiting for the search party to pass her by. Or for an opportunity to present itself, whatever came first.
Lucia did not know where Nash had got off to, but it was clear that the Harmonians had not captured the man. She didn't know if she could trust on him for help. Would he return for her? Could he even find her if he tried? She'd decided not to count on it. She was on her own.
Lucia wanted desperately to know what had become of Hugo and Chris's attack. Was her son safe? Her heart pounded. A small part of her wished nothing more than to leap from her branch and surrender herself, if only to dispel the suspense sooner.
The lights of the advance soldiers pooled in among the tree trunks below Lucia's perch. The torches cast long, dancing shadows between the trunks, like some ghostly gallery extending in all directions. Two soldiers stalked into view, their footfalls high-kneed and gingerly, as if overcompensating for fear of the uneven ground below their boots. Their torches turned every which way, helmeted heads twisting and tilting as the soldiers scanned the woods.
"Find anything?" someone shouted from behind.
One of the soldiers spun around. "Nothing here. I-" The man's eyes happened to turn up at a broad oak, and its leafy crown. His eyes stared right into Lucia's.
No time to think. When cornered by a grizzly bear, the hunter does the only thing she can. Lucia leaped from her branch, uncoiling her bull whip in one swift motion. Landing on her feet in the half-light at the edge of torchlight, Lucia snapped her whip, coiling the leather around the soldier's spear. She gave a mighty tug. Her swift entrance had shocked the man. All the soldier had time for was to throw his spear up as a shield. Her tug sent him toppling forward as the spear flew from his reluctant grip. Lucia set her body in his path, twisted sideways, and all she had to do was to plant her foot in the soldier's neck. The man gave a croak, then crumpled forward, his torch coming to rest on mossy rock.
"There she is!" someone shouted. Lucia shifted position, putting the oak at her back as soldiers waded through the brush toward the fallen soldier. She counted four men close enough to matter. Four against one were poor odds, but the hunter keeps his feet moving until his legs collapse. She did what her father had taught her. She fought.
Lucia lashed out at the first man to enter her field of vision. He was on her right. The whip snapped taut against the soldier's cheek with a crack. Dazed, he sagged to the forest floor as though boneless. Lucia whirled, scourging the soldier on her left with two overhead snaps, stinging his arms. It was enough to stun him, cause him to cry out and lower his spear. Lucia sprung up on a rock and took to the air, slamming her foot into the man's face. He dropped with a groan, helmet clattering on bedrock.
Two more soldiers behind her. Lucia swung her whip as she turned, lashing one man's helmet, then the second man's neck. The latter man cried out in pain and knelt down. The first man hesitated, feeling at his helmet with uncertainty. Big mistake. Lucia charged forward. And felt something snag her back.
There were hands about her waist. Pulling her back. She bucked against the grip, twisting and slamming her elbows blindly. She felt something connect. The man grunted, but his grip did not relent. He grasped her hands by the wrist, and pinned her arms back.
Her whip landed on mossy ground. Shock and fear made Lucia's blood pound. She growled and slammed her head back, heard something crunch. The sound was satisfying. But she was pushed onto her knees, bent forward.
"Hold her down! Tie her arms."
The soldiers in front of her hastened to obey. Lucia felt stunned. She recognized that voice.
"Why?" she said. It all made sense now. The soldiers' unexpected readiness. The separation in the woods. It all made sense. But she couldn't understand why.
The blond man's face showed up in the torchlight, his face bloodied and his nose broken. Still a thin smile played on his lips. Nash shrugged. "It always had to be this way. I couldn't let you kill my employer, after all. Honestly, I had hoped to extend this charade somewhat further, but I'd be a cruel man if I left my fellow Harmonian soldiers to the mercy of your whip."
Fellow Harmonians. Lucia did her best to contain the shame and frustration that welled up from inside. She should have seen it coming, should have anticipated the treachery. She lifted her head to regain some measure of pride, even as the soldiers jostled her to bind her arms, callous hands moving to inflict pain in return for what she'd dealt out. "Traitor. Blackguard. I'll have my vengeance one day, Nash Latkje."
Nash had turned his back on her, and was walking away. Now he stopped, twisting around to give her a sidelong smile. "If only you knew how many had boasted the same." He laughed. "Bring her back to camp. Bishop Sasarai will want to see her."
"Wait," Lucia said. "What of my son? Tell me if he lives."
Nash hesitated. After a moment - tortuously long - he shrugged. "I don't know."
Lucia felt a cold sweat prickle the skin beneath her clothes. She was pushed to her feet, staggering for balance between two rough soldiers. When the hunter's snares are gone, her bow cracked, her knife blade snapped, she plays dead. Lucia swore she would endure. For Hugo. For the Karaya. She did what her father had taught her. She put one foot in front of the other.
Luc strode onto the top of Bear Mountain. It was testament to the shock and confusion of the soldiers surrounding the uprooted command tent, that they did not register Luc's presence at first. Normally, the Masked Bishop commanded a healthy respect, perhaps even fear. By the time Luc reached the command tent, he had to push through dozens of soldiers standing on awkward guard, shifting position and shuffling back and forth.
Camp followers carried the body of the last of the slain Earth's Fist elite away on a stretcher, grimacing under the weight of the dead soldier's steel armor. Luc watched them go with a rising sense of fascination. Admiration, almost, he felt for these savages who had managed in one night of foolish heroics to do what Luc still planned meticulously for. If not for the warning Sasarai's spy had sent earlier that same day, Luc suspected that the bishop's own body would have been among those carried away on stretchers.
Bishop Sasarai remaining standing beneath the spire of rock upon which mangled tent still dangled. As calm and collected as a stone statue himself, the bishop sipped tea from a delicate porcelain cup, while his aide, Dios, paced back and forth, barking orders with a voice threatening to break. The bishop's aide was livid, calling groups of soldiers to rant and rave orders before dismissing them into the night.
Luc pushed past the inner ring of soldiers. "Bishop Sasarai. My heart overflows with concern. I am pleased to see you safe. Blessed be the Absolute One, may he be eternal." The words were rote, so deeply ingrained in Luc that they actually felt true, even though Luc wished, needed Sasarai dead.
Bishop Sasarai's reply was just as rote. "My heart brims over with gratitude at your concern, Masked Bishop. I am safe, thanks be to the Absolute One, may he be eternal." Sasarai sighed, setting his cup down on a silver platter expertly presented at just the right moment by a bowing servant. "I only regret that this attack marks the end of negotiations. I had so hoped for a peaceful solution."
"As had I," Luc said. Again, a lie. What happened to the Grasslands mattered little. When Luc saw his plan to its fruition, whatever damage a small war would wreak upon the land and its inhabitants would be as a campfire next to the blazing of the sun. This land was doomed, regardless.
Someone jostled through the crowd to stand beside Luc. "Bishop Sasarai," Albert said. "You called me."
Bishop Sasarai gestured for Albert to approach. "I will see the Grasslanders broken," he said. "Make preparations for an early march."
Albert bowed. "As you desire, Bishop Sasarai."
Once dismissed, Luc and Albert walked together through the camp. Luc gently corrected the flow of air around them using his True Wind Rune. To an outsider, it might seem that the eccentric Masked Bishop allowed himself this small luxury of shelter from the chill night wind. The true purpose was to prevent their treasonous words from spilling out where idle soldiers and camp followers would hear.
"They came closer than expected," Luc said. "The Karayans."
Albert frowned. "I wonder if we made a mistake. Should we have nudged things, after all?"
Luc shrugged. "No. Our preparations aren't complete. There's no need to hasten things. Besides, there will be many more opportunities for accidents." Luc allowed a smile to reach his lips. "Especially now that we're at war with the Karayans."
"Yes," Albert admitted. "I'm sure a reasonably competent tactician can think of many ways in which a general might be unintentionally exposed to enemy attack."
Luc laughed, surprising himself. He didn't often feel this way. Perhaps, he mused, his good mood rose from how close they were now. How near the long searched-for goal of his. But his good humor was spoiled by the dark of the sky. Before tomorrow, another night had to be endured.
Another long sleep, haunted by dreams.