The Elves of Cintra (3 page)

Or was there?

She raced to the side of the building that fronted the alleyway and looked down. A fire escape ladder was attached to the concrete by heavy bolts, a narrow metal ribbon almost invisible in the gloom. She stared at it a moment, then glanced out at the water where the lights from the invading boats were drawing closer. The drums continued to sound, beating out a steady rhythm, announcing what lay ahead to those in the threatened city. Already the gates of the compound had swung open and squads of defenders were making their way down to the docks. A battle would be fought there soon. When that happened, the Ghosts would be well advised to be far away.

She brushed at her thatch of straw-colored hair and took a deep breath. She hated heights, but anything was preferable to an encounter with Croaks. She looped the prod’s carry strap over her shoulder and across her back, stepped up onto the narrow, flat surface of the building cap, grasped the curved railing where it arched up from below, and started climbing down backward.

She wanted to close her eyes, but she settled for keeping her gaze fixed on the wall and her attention focused on finding secure footing upon each rung as she descended. Her efforts were made easier by the deepness of the night, which the narrow canyon of the alleyway made almost complete. Even the torchlight from the compound and the water didn’t penetrate here. She steadied herself by thinking of her warrior mother, of how she had orchestrated escapes of this sort so many times when Sparrow was little. Her mother had told her about some of them, and Sparrow had been present at a few near the end. She had marveled at her mother’s calmness in the face of such excruciating pressure. It had taught her something about the necessity of composure, of knowing that the worst danger you faced would often be your own uncertainty.

She kept that foremost in her thoughts as she made her way down the side of the building, a fly against the wall in the gloom, trying not to think about how it would feel to fall.

The descent went much more quickly than she had expected, and her feet touched the ground before she realized it was there. She stepped away from the ladder, unslung the prod, and looked around guardedly. She could not see or hear anything. The alley was empty. Moving quickly down its length, she gained the street and peered out into the night. She was at the side of the building now, the street running down from Pioneer Square to the waterfront. Everywhere, the shadows seemed to move in response to the fires and the drums.

A quick glance up at the roof revealed nothing.

She started up the street for the square, intent on going after the other Ghosts and warning them of the danger. She wasn’t sure what they could do about it until the Knight of the Word returned with Hawk, but at least they would be prepared for what she knew was coming. She swore in her best thirteen-year-old street language at the Croaks that had forced her to climb down that ladder, furious at the delay. What were Croaks doing in her building anyway? They knew the rules. They had never entered before, never even dared. They must have seen the Ghosts leaving, must have realized that they were abandoning the building. It was a desirable dwelling, easily defended and safe. They just decided to move in once it appeared that the Ghosts had moved out.

But they could have waited a day or two, couldn’t they?

She reached the head of the street where it intersected the square, moving cautiously, eyes sweeping the darkness, knowing that if there were Croaks inside the building there were probably Croaks outside, as well. But the square seemed deserted, and so she started to turn north up First in the direction the others had gone when she heard her name called.

“Sparrow! Wait up!”

She wheeled around at the sound of Panther’s voice, watching as he came up the empty street at a trot, dodging among the piles of debris, his prod cradled in the crook of his arm, his breathing audible even from where she stood. He must have run all the way from the compound. Something must have happened for him to come back like this. Something bad.

She started to ask what it was, and then saw the dark forms shambling along behind him, still a way back, but clearly in pursuit. More Croaks.

“Frickin’ Croaks!” he spit out angrily. “Chased me all the way from the edge of—”

She hissed at him in warning. “Keep it down, Panther Puss! There are more inside!”

Too late. Heavy bodies appeared from the doorway of their building, eyes turning their way. Ragged forms with gimlet eyes, fingernails long since grown to claws, and teeth sharpened like those of wild animals.

Sparrow shoved Panther in frustration. “Now you’ve done it, big mouth. Get moving!”

They hurried across the square, Croaks at both ends of the street and closing. The fires and the drums didn’t seem to have any effect on them. They had their own concerns to occupy their attention, and Sparrow knew that most of those concerns revolved around food.

“Where’s Hawk?” she asked as they ran toward the buildings across the way. “Why are you back here alone?”

“Don’t know about Hawk. Don’t know about that Knight of whatever, either. He left me at the edge of the square, told me to wait until he came back. He never came, but these Croaks did and I had to make a break for it. They’re all over. Did you see the fires on the water?”

She glanced over at his dark face. “I saw them from the roof. Boats filled with invaders. If they’re the ones I think, we’re in big trouble. Mama used to tell me about them. Once-men, she called them. They destroy everything, kill everyone except the ones they put in the slave camps. Worse than the militias. We have to warn the others and get out of here.”

“You won’t get no argument from me.” He slowed suddenly, grabbing her arm. “Uh-oh.”

A pair of Croaks had appeared out of the buildings in front of them, blocking their escape. “What is it with these things?” Panther snapped furiously. “We don’t see any for weeks, then all of a sudden they’re everywhere! Where’d they all come from?”

Sparrow took a quick look around at the ones following. Another few minutes and they would be right on top of them. “We have to get past these two,” she said. “You take the one on the left. Try not to do anything stupid.”

Without waiting for his response, she launched herself at the one on the right, her finger on the prod’s trigger and the staff’s electric charge at full strength. She jabbed the prod’s end into the Croak’s leg, and the Croak grunted and began to shake and jerk uncontrollably. Sparrow didn’t back away, keeping the prod jammed into its leg, knowing that if she gave ground it would be on her in a second. To her left, she caught a glimpse of Panther moving in close, his prod lancing into the other Croak’s throat with such force that it broke the heavy skin. The Croak gasped and tried to extract the killing tip, but Panther used his strength to force it backward and down to its knees.

In seconds both Croaks lay twitching on the concrete. Sparrow grabbed Panther’s arm and pulled him toward the building’s alleyway. “Stop staring at them! Run!”

Prods held at the ready, they disappeared into the dark corridor of the alley.

L
OGAN
T
OM
took a few minutes more to look around the rubble where he had told Panther to wait, and then gave up. He didn’t know what had happened to the boy, but he couldn’t take the time to find out. He had to get back to the other street kids and hope that Panther would find his own way. Maybe something had scared him. That didn’t seem like Panther, but you never knew. Whatever the case, he wasn’t here now.

Unless he was, but couldn’t answer.

Logan didn’t want to dwell on that possibility, but he couldn’t quite put it aside, either. He hated the thought that he might have somehow failed the boy, that he might have brought him along only to get him killed. He had lived for years with the guilt of never being able to do quite enough for the children in the slave camps. He didn’t need another name added to that list. Funny. He had known Panther for less than twenty-four hours, but it felt a lot longer. He liked the dark-humored, moody boy—liked his aggressiveness and readiness to take on anything. Maybe it was because he admired the toughness in street kids that he liked Panther so much.

Or maybe it was because he reminded him of himself.

He started back up the street into Pioneer Square, chased by the sounds of the drums on the bay and the marching of the compound defenders to the docks. He hated the thought of taking on this new responsibility, looking after the Ghosts, shepherding them to wherever it was he was supposed to go. Losing the gypsy morph was a major breach of his duty to protect it. Pretty hard to protect something that had been swallowed up by a ball of light and was now who-knew-where. But being left with the morph’s family…

He stopped himself, rethinking his choice of language.

Being left with
Hawk’s
family, with a pack of street kids to look after, was galling. It limited his freedom of movement. What was he supposed to do with these kids and the old man and that wolf dog while he was trying to figure out how to find Hawk?

He realized that until he had come face-to-face with the morph, he had never thought of it as a child. Even though it had started out as one in the time of John Ross and Nest Freemark, even though it had never been seen as anything else after those first few weeks, he had never thought of it that way. He hadn’t really given it any thought at all. When Two Bears had asked him to find the morph, he had seen it as an escape from what he had been doing for so many years: attacking the camps, killing the defenders, setting free the prisoners, and—he hesitated before finishing the thought—destroying the experiments that someday would become demons. The children. He had thought he would be leaving all that behind. He had thought himself free of it.

He had never imagined that he would find himself tied up with a bunch of street kids.

But as with so many things in his life, it appeared he had been wrong about this, too.

He moved ahead into the shadow of the buildings and the dark canyon of Pioneer Square and tried not to look back.

O
WL HEARD THE DRUMMING
first and looked back over her shoulder past River, who was manning the wheelchair, toward the dark stain of the bay waters. Hundreds of lights dotted their smooth surface for as far as the eye could see.

“Turn me around,” she ordered the dark-haired girl.

River wheeled her about obediently. The other Ghosts saw what was happening and stopped to look with her. Bear slowed the heavy cart that was filled with their possessions, and Candle, who was leading the way, walked back. Fixit and Chalk, carrying the Weatherman on his makeshift litter, set him down, stretching aching backs and rubbing weary arms.

“For an old man, he weighs an awful lot,” Chalk muttered.

Owl didn’t hear him, her attention focused on the lights. Torches, she decided. More than she could count. They would be burning from the decks of boats, which meant a huge fleet had come to the city. But not for anything good.

In her lap, Squirrel stirred and lifted his sleepy face from her shoulder. “Are we there, Mama?”

“Not yet,” she whispered.

He snuffled and rubbed his eyes. “What’s that noise?”

“Nothing to worry about.” She stroked his fine hair. “Go back to sleep.”

She was worried about him. He should have been better by now, the sickness defeated. But he couldn’t seem to shake it, and he was growing weaker despite the medications and care. He had only been able to walk three blocks from their home when they left for the freeway before tiring and climbing into her lap. She didn’t mind holding him; he didn’t weigh hardly anything.

She glanced down at his wan face. She wished Tessa were there to offer advice. Tessa knew more about medications and sicknesses than anyone.

Candle was standing at her shoulder, young face intense and worried. “We have to run away,” she said.

“It’s an attack,” Bear declared. His big frame blocked the heavy cart so that it could not roll. “Those are war drums. That many boats means an invading force, probably come up from the south.”