Urchin and the Heartstone (30 page)
UARD DUTY ON THE BATTLEMENTS AGAIN.
Everyone else, including Granite, was celebrating finding all that silver, and Bronze was supposed to guard the battlements. He’d rather guard the freak in case Cedar turned up. If she didn’t, he could at least march about outside the door talking loudly about snow and rusty knives, and make sure the freak didn’t sleep well. As he was here, he may as well look for any sign of snow.
The hedgehog on relief guard should be here by now. He was late. When he did arrive, Bronze snarled at him.
“You’re late, you useless idle scrubbing brush,” he said.
“Not my fault,” grunted the guard. “Commander Cedar was giving orders about the freak.”
“Cedar!” said Bronze. He took a step forward. His spines bristled.
“Yeah,” said the hedgehog. “I had to cover for her while she went to his cell.”
In wild triumph, Bronze pushed past him and hurtled down the stairs, not seeing the small, sleek shadow of Creeper. There was a sharp cold pain in his neck, then a hot rush of blood. It was the last thing he felt.
On guard at the cell door, Trail paced impatiently about. Bronze was supposed to be on duty with her, and where had he gone? She was left with an elderly guard who’d drunk too much and couldn’t stay awake. When Commander Cedar came to see the prisoner, she didn’t feel like being pleasant.
“The freak needs grooming before Smokewreath gets him,” said Cedar.
Trail drew herself up. She was taller than the commander.
“I’ve orders not to let anyone in,” she said. “And if you could take him, you wouldn’t be allowed to go alone with him. You should be escorted.”
“You should be demoted,” said Cedar, nodding at the drowsy guard. “Trail, I’m doing you a favor. If Smokewreath comes up here—and believe me, he will, at the first trace of a snowflake—and finds that the freak isn’t washed and ready for him, you’ll be the next one for the knife. At the very least, you won’t be in the Inner Watch any longer.”
Trail hesitated. “Can’t you bring everything up here and wash him in his cell?” she said. “I can send someone for a tub of hot water.”
In the cell, Urchin stood with his ear pressed against the door, listening to the argument and biting his lip. There must be something he could do to make Trail unlock the door. The fire was still burning in the grate. If he could make enough smoke to convince her that the cell was on fire, she’d have to come in and rescue him—but she’d probably bring the whole Inner Watch running, too. Cedar might be quite capable of overpowering Trail if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t want to. It must be part of her plan to make it look as if she were meant to lead him from the cell, as she had done before, and nobody would question it.
They were still arguing, and it sounded as if Trail was weakening. If Cedar was trying to persuade her that he should be washed, it might help if he looked as if he needed it. He glanced sharply around the cell.
The ashes in the grate might still be hot. He hopped to the fire and used a stick from the log basket to scrape them out in a thin layer. Warily he touched them and found the ashes warm, but not too hot to touch. He dug his paws into them, rubbed his face, and in the most desperate, pleading, and urgent voice he could, yelled,
“Help me!.”
The lock clanked. Trail and Cedar rushed in. Urchin stood before them, black and gray ashes smeared on his fur, his face, his paws. He coughed harshly.
“Fell in the grate,” he gasped.
“You lying little freak, you’ve been trying to escape up the chimney!” snarled Cedar. “Come with me!” She grabbed the scruff of his neck and dragged him past Trail. “Trail, I’ll be as quick as I can, and get him back to you before they send for him. In the meantime, get this lot cleaned up; the filthy freak’s spread the soot everywhere. If the king sees this, he’ll have your hide for a hearth rug.” Before she had finished speaking, they were out the door.
She had dragged him halfway along the corridor before she whispered, “Well done.” Then the sound they had both dreaded made them freeze. The doors of the High Chamber were opening. King Silverbirch laughed.
“Run!” whispered Cedar. She dashed for a door, pushed Urchin through it, and sprang after him as paws and voices sounded on the stairs.
In the Presence Chamber of King Silverbirch, heavy silver-gray curtains had shut out the night. Fire blazed in the hearth, crackling, leaping, casting an angry light into the shining floor and on the silvering of robes, furniture, goblets. Torches cast flame and shadow over King Silverbirch as he talked to himself and fidgeted.
A few senior animals were still there, growing drowsy among empty flagons and the remnants of a banquet. Lord Marshal Granite sprawled in a chair, called for more wine, and punched the hedgehog who brought it. Smokewreath hugged his knees as he sat by the fire, muttering. The servants stayed as quiet as they could. Late at night with the mad king, the evil sorcerer, and the bullying Lord Marshal, it was best not to be noticed.
“Build with it,” the king was muttering. “So much silver! Trade with it, buy weapons with it. Yes. Swords, make swords, buy swords, daggers, chairs, manacles, helmets. No, too good for helmets and manacles. Do you want an armory, Lord Marshal?”
“I
am
an armory,” grunted Granite.
“I want to see my new silver mine,” said the king. “I don’t care if it’s too cold to work. I just want to see it. I want to touch it.” He wriggled with impatience. “I want it to be day!” Jumping from the throne, he strode to the window.
“Curtain!” he snapped. A squirrel darted forward to open the curtains, and the king gave a gasp of joy.
“It’s snowing!” he cried. With his ears pricked, Smokewreath leaped up. “Snowing! Granite! Come here!”
Granite trudged unwillingly to the window. “Plague and fire, so it is,” he growled.
“The sky is saluting me!” cried the king. “I am the Splendor of Silver, and the sky itself honors me!”
Bones clattered as Smokewreath scuttled across the floor. He looked up at the king with a wild pleading in his face.
“Splendid Majesty,” he said, in a voice that was almost a purr. “You promised me. You promised I could have him when the snow fell. I have waited so long.”
“Good idea,” said Granite. “Your Majesty’s not safe as long as that freak’s around.”
“Oh, but really…” began the king.
“Your Majesty is the Splendor of Silver,” purred Smokewreath, “and with the magic I will work from his heart and blood, you will be the same forever. The Everlasting Splendor of Silver. Undying Splendor. King of Whitewings and of Mistmantle, forever.”
“I can’t wait,” said the king. “Oh, but I’ll be so sorry to part with the little freak. I’d become fond of it. But I did promise.” He strode to the doors and barked with laughter as the servants flung them open. “Follow me!”
Eager and fast, the procession made its way up the stairs. Smokewreath beat with his staff at every step, muttering “Kill the freak” with the rhythm of his footsteps. The other animals took it up, a quiet, menacing chant. They were Fortress animals. They had served the king well, and deserved a death.
“Kill the freak! Kill the freak!”
Trail appeared at the cell door. She was rubbing ashes from her paws.
“Commander Cedar has just taken him for his wash, O High Splendor of Silver,” she said, bowing. “She won’t be long. She said Smokewreath wanted him washed before the sacrifice.”
Smokewreath said nothing, but gave a low, rattling growl and shuddered. Trail dared not look at the king.
“I did question it,” she said nervously, “but she’s a commander, and I had to obey orders. And he did badly need a wash.”
“Smokewreath,” snarled the king, “did you order him washed?”
Smokewreath found his voice, low and menacing as the hiss of a snake. “I did not. I said nothing to Commander Cedar. I smell treachery.”
The king spun around with his cloak swishing and mad fury in his eyes. “Find him!” he screamed. “All of you! Find him! And find Cedar! Bring her to me! I will tear her apart with my own claws!”
Cedar dragged Urchin through tunnels, around corners, squeezing underground. From above them came sounds of running paws and shouted orders.
“The hunt is on,” she whispered breathlessly. “But our route to the coast is quicker than theirs. Keep going.” They emerged at last in the underground chamber where Urchin had met the Larchlings. Larch and Flame were there with pale, set faces, and Lugg and Juniper, cloaked and ready for a journey.
Cedar threw a cloak around him. “Pale gray for camouflage,” she said. “We’ve made a small boat ready for you, next to the ship in the harbor.” She buckled a sword around his waist, and somebody hung a satchel over his shoulder. “It’s a fair wind, you’ll have a swift run to Mistmantle. We’ll get you to the shore.”
“What about getting through the mists?” asked Urchin.
“We did what you suggested,” said Cedar with a bright smile. “A group of the Larchlings went down and freed the swans. They can go with you as far as the mists, then carry you over.”
“Cedar and I will go through the tunnels first,” said Larch. “We know the routes. Then Urchin and Juniper, and Flame and Lugg will follow.”
“And defend you if need be,” said Lugg. “Very good, Your Majesty.”
