Arrow (Knife) (26 page)

They crept along in silence, until the muscles in Rhosmari’s shoulders burned and Timothy was grimacing with the strain. Then he stopped. ‘Door,’ he gasped. ‘Got to give it a kick.’ And with a grunt and a thud, a gust of cooler air washed over them. Timothy writhed backwards out of the pipe, sliding over its edge until only his arms and his head were visible. ‘Grab my hand,’ he said. ‘I’ll pull you out.’

Rhosmari scrambled towards him and caught his fingers, then his wrists. He yanked, and she slid free, straight into his arms. He staggered back under her weight and dropped the torch; it spun crazily across the floor, flashing over the root-patterned walls and two more shut doors before rolling to a stop by their feet.

The relief of being out of the pipe was overwhelming. Rhosmari gripped Timothy’s sleeves and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

‘Er…’ He cleared his throat, and his voice cracked an octave as he went on, ‘We should get moving. Can you walk?’

Rhosmari let go of him with an effort, then bent and picked up the torch. The hedge tunnel was even darker than the pipe, and smelled of mulch and old earth. But the walls were packed hard, and the floor looked dry. There were no cobwebs or scuttling insects, no holes that she could see. And best of all, it was high enough to stand up in.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m all right now.’

The door at the end of the tunnel was plastered thickly with soil, and fitted so closely to the wall that if not for the brass ring that marked its handle, Rhosmari would never have known it was there. She pulled and it creaked open, revealing the East Root corridor of the Oak. ‘Finally,’ she murmured, and stepped forward – but Timothy caught her arm.

‘I’ve got to get back to the house,’ he said. ‘You’ll be all right from here?’

She switched off the torch and handed it to him. ‘I know where I am now. I’ll be fine.’

Timothy watched her, his face unreadable in the half-light. ‘So…I guess this is goodbye.’

Rhosmari nodded.

‘Yeah.’ He sounded hoarse. ‘OK. Well, take care.’ He turned to leave.

‘Timothy?’ She waited until he looked back, then went on in a rush, ‘I appreciate what you did for me. Very much.’ And with that Rhosmari leaned forward, and brushed her lips against his cheek.

Timothy’s fingers crept up to the place where she had kissed him. Then he broke into an incredulous, lopsided grin. ‘Any time,’ he said, and sprinted away.

Rhosmari shut the door after him, and headed for the main part of the Oak. She had just passed the empty dining hall when the air around her tingled, as though lightning had flashed by. Seconds later a pack of scullery maids fled out the kitchen door, shrieking, ‘It’s started! The Empress is here!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ pleaded Holly, plunging into the corridor after them. ‘It’s barely even dark yet— Oh, hello, Rhosmari.’ She brushed a hand across her sweat-dampened brow. ‘You’ve heard about Bluebell, I suppose.’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Rhosmari. She glanced ahead to the open heart of the tree, where the kitchen workers huddled fearfully at the foot of the Spiral Stair. Beyond them, a larger crowd of faeries stood in restless ranks, all of them armed. Some carried bows carved and polished to a sheen, with quivers full of feathered shafts across their shoulders. Others wore swords and daggers of glittering steel. Weapons meant to hurt, to wound, to kill.

Rhosmari had hoped to find a way to defeat the Empress without violence, but she had failed, and there could be no stopping this battle now. The faeries of the Oak would fight to save their home, and some of them would die.

Gardener protect us
, she thought. Then she began edging around the crowd, trying to find a clear path to the Spiral Stair. Thorn caught sight of her, and waved her troops back to let her pass. ‘Took you long enough,’ she said. ‘They’re waiting for you upstairs.’

Garan slipped through the ranks to join them, his cheeks flushed and his eyes fever-bright. ‘The wards are holding,’ he said. ‘But the Empress is on the move. It is time.’ He took Rhosmari by the shoulders and kissed her brow. ‘Peace to you, sister.’ Then he vanished back into the crowd.

‘All right!’ Thorn barked at her troops. ‘Everyone outside and into position! Now!’

At once the faeries closed ranks and began marching off towards the exits. A tremor rocked the Oak, and Rhosmari clutched the bannister as the window-slits flashed with the dull red light of an explosion.

The battle for the Oak had begun.

Rhosmari stood with Campion, Wink and Linden on the West Knot Branch, a rope around her waist and the loreseed clenched tightly in her hand. The moon was still inching its way up above the trees, but the stars were clearly visible, and Peri had turned the lights on at the back of the house, casting a soft illumination over the lawn. In the garden below, a host of tiny figures were moving into position; in the nearby wood, the trees were restless with birds. There was no sign of the Empress, but they all knew that somewhere in the shadows, she was there.

Rhosmari opened her fingers, balancing the loreseed on her palm. ‘This is the account of the battle between the faeries of the Oak and the Empress Jasmine,’ she said in a clear but quiet voice, ‘as witnessed by Rhosmari daughter of Celyn of the Children of Rhys. May it stand as a testimony to future generations, that they may know what truly happened on this day.’

‘Amen,’ said Linden softly, as though it had been a prayer. Wink had made them all invisible to everyone else but not to each other, so Rhosmari could see that her face was strained and very pale. Stepping a few paces down the branch, which was so broad that six faeries could have walked it side by side without touching, Linden tied herself to a stout twig for support. With a last squeeze of Rhosmari’s hand and a whispered, ‘Gardener help you,’ Wink hurried to do likewise.

Hissing and spitting sparks, a spell erupted from the enemy lines and arced high over the Oakenwyld. But instead of falling to the grass, it hovered in midair, casting a baleful light over the garden. And now the outermost wards broke, and the Empress’s army rushed towards them.

‘There are so
many
,’ breathed Campion.

‘Now!’ called Thorn from below, and at once she and all the archers with her grew to human size and loosed their arrows in a long arc over the field beyond. They could hardly expect to hit anything like that, thought Rhosmari; they’d barely had time to glimpse the Empress’s soldiers, let alone aim at them…

A diving hawk-faery cast a spell that rattled the branches of the Oak. Rhosmari tugged on the rope that anchored her, making sure it was secure, as the archers loosed their second volley into the air.

This time the arrows flew further, but still the Empress’s army advanced, more and more shadowy figures gliding out from between the distant trees. Willowy faery women flashed in and out of visibility as they ran, while males loped along in the forms of dogs and foxes, or swooped from the treetops as birds of every size and shape. And all of them seemed heedless of their own safety, not even troubling to dodge the missiles raining down among them…

And
through
them.

‘It’s a glamour!’ exclaimed Linden. ‘Those soldiers – they’re not even real!’

But the faeries of the Oak had already recognised the trick, and cast a spell of their own to undo it. Even as Linden spoke, two-thirds of the dark shapes crossing the meadow wavered and blinked out, leaving only a scattered remnant behind. One of them whirled to look behind her, feathery blonde hair gleaming – but then a haze rose up around Veronica, and she disappeared again.

The birds wheeling around the Oak had also decreased in number, and the archers were no longer wasting ammunition. A jackdaw shrieked and plummeted into the hedge, and in the distance a wounded dog-faery let out a yelp. But now the Blackwings glided in from the south-west, and though Garan and his men loosed a barrage of arrows towards them, they nimbly dodged every one. Light gathered between their outstretched wings, swelling to a blinding glare—

Another explosion shook the Oak, and green light flared around them. Rhosmari stumbled, nearly dropping the loreseed, while Campion fell off the side of the branch, her rope snapping taut. ‘Campion!’ cried Wink, but the Librarian panted, ‘I’m fine,’ and flew up to join them again.

By now most of the faeries below had grown to human size, for since the Empress’s people scorned to make themselves small, it was the only way to be sure the two sides were evenly matched. It ought to have made it easier for Rhosmari to see what was going on, but there was so much mist and smoke and sparks flying about, such a confusion of fluttering wings and darting animal shapes, that she could scarcely tell allies from enemies.

‘I can’t see Rob,’ said Linden anxiously.

‘I can,’ Campion replied. ‘He and his troops have come around behind the Oak. They’re driving the enemy back towards the wood— Oh, well done!’

But Rhosmari had no chance to find out what Rob had done well, because a small animal had just darted through a gap in the hedge – an ermine with ash-white fur, even though at this time of the year it ought to have been brown. It paused to nose at a fallen faery, who lay moaning on the grass with her wings crumpled at odd angles; then it snapped its jaws around her throat, gave her a shake and let her drop again, dead.

‘Tansy,’ moaned Wink. ‘Oh, the poor silly fool, she should never have gone out there – she was supposed to stay in the kitchen with the others—’

The ermine paused in the middle of the lawn, coolly surveying the chaos. Then with a shimmer it transformed into a faery, equally lean and pale, and Rhosmari’s stomach turned over as she recognised Martin. He whipped around and flung a dagger straight into the crowd, sending a rebel tumbling. Then he took his bird form and darted away again.

‘Coward!’ Linden shouted, and for a moment Rhosmari thought she might leap off the branch and go after him. But then she put her hands over her face, and Wink hurried to comfort her.

By now the flowerbeds had been trampled into a muddy tangle, the hedges smashed in several places and one of the smaller trees splintered in two. All the work that Peri and Paul had done to make the Oakenwyld beautiful was ruined, and though Rhosmari knew it was the least of their worries, part of her ached to see it. Where were the humans, anyway? Were they biding their time for some crucial moment? Or were they already working to help the faeries of the Oak in some way that she could not see?

‘Garan’s surrounded,’ said Campion. ‘They’ve cut him off from the others – they’re closing in—’

But at that same moment came a sound:
twang-hiss-thump.
Someone shrieked, in pain or rage. Then a hail of black stones rained down upon the garden, scattering faeries everywhere.

Peri McCormick stood on the veranda, moonlight blazing on her white hair as she tossed her crossbow aside and grabbed her rifle. With two quick shots she winged a crow and knocked a kestrel out of the air. From the window above her Timothy fired his slingshot, zinging iron pellets at the enemy, and on the opposite side of the house, Paul was doing the same.

One of the Empress’s faeries who had been skulking unseen by the hedge cried out and clutched her arm, forced into visibility again. A cat yowled and collapsed into a dazed-looking faery. Three more birds tumbled from the sky – but then one of the Empress’s soldiers hurled himself at Peri, dagger in hand. She dodged him easily, swung up the rifle and fired a shot past his shoulder before dropping the gun and drawing her hunting knife. He thrust, she ducked, and with two quick slashes and a kick she sent him reeling back into the crowd. Then she snatched up the gun and began reloading.

She was just about to fire again when a raven plunged down upon her, knocking the rifle from her hands. But it must have brushed one of the iron rings she wore, because as she stumbled back, the raven dropped to the ground and rose up again as Byrne Blackwing. He seized a discarded sword and swung it at her; she grabbed the poker from beneath the glass door and blocked the blow. They fought in a blur of flashing metal and rapid footwork, chasing each other around the veranda and out onto the lawn. Byrne had knocked Peri down – no, she had used his own momentum to throw him over, and she was up again—

‘Thorn!’ cried Wink.

‘What is it?’ Campion dashed over to her, almost tripping Rhosmari with the rope. ‘What about her? What’s happening? Where is she?’

‘She fell over there—’ Wink pointed blindly towards the southwest. ‘Someone came up behind her and hit her on the head, and she fell down. I don’t know if she’s unconscious, or…’

Anxious, Rhosmari strained to see. But there was no sign of the dark-haired faery anywhere, only her troops, who had scattered in panic and were running back towards the Oak. ‘Gardener have mercy,’ whispered Linden, and then shrieked, ‘Knife! Watch out!’

But the warning came too late. Corbin, the other Blackwing, had sneaked up behind Peri, and as she turned he thrust his dagger into her side. She crumpled to her knees, throwing up an arm to defend herself, as Corbin wrenched out the knife and stabbed it down again—

‘No!’ wailed Linden, seizing a twig with both hands and shaking it. ‘No, no, no, not Knife, not her, oh Great Gardener,
no
—’

A
crack
split the air, and the dagger in Corbin’s hand went flying. Timothy, straddling the window frame with slingshot raised, fired off another pellet that laid the raven boy flat upon the grass. Then he swung his leg back inside the house and disappeared.

A fox bolted across the garden to Peri’s side, whirled and became Rob, sword in hand. He shouted, ‘Rebels! Defend us!’

Lily was the first to reach him, her glossy black hair flying. She threw up a shield around herself, Rob and the fallen Peri – but with so much iron nearby the spell was weak, and the glow of her magic flickered like a wind-blown candle. Still, it bought them a little time, and that was enough. Timothy burst out of the glass door, seized Peri beneath the arms, and dragged her back into the safety of the house.

Wink burst into sobs, her whole body shuddering as she and Linden clung to each other. ‘Oh, Thorn,’ she moaned. ‘Oh, Knife…’