Flight of the King (22 page)

“Phi,” Gwen whispered. “Phi, how long has it been like this?”

But Phi's eyes were closed and her mouth had fallen softly open. She was asleep.

Gwen stared at the Glass for another moment. The light unnerved her, as though the Glass itself were watching her. She shivered, then wrapped it up and stowed it deep in her rucksack. She
eventually fell asleep, into fitful dreams.

“GENTLEMEN,” SAID THE JACKAL,
grinning at both boys. “I believe I've just saved your lives.”

Through the trees, Bailey could see the attendants pushing the poacher into a polished metal motorcar, and the glint of the moon reflected off its black hood. The Jackal must have been waiting
for them.

It felt like a strange, awful dream. He had only heard people talk of the Jackal as though he were a ghost. And now he stood right in front of them, tapping at the roots of the gnarled tree with
the metal tip of his cane, politely asking them to come down from their tree as if inviting them to a formal supper.

“We're fine up here, thanks,” Bailey said, trying to sound brave, but his voice cracked. He and Hal knelt together on the branch, too high for the Jackal to reach
them—but not high enough to feel safe.

“Ah, but you see, if you do not come down there's a very good chance that you'll never see your dear white tiger again.”

Bailey's blood froze in his veins. His muscles tensed, and he wanted to roar, to spring from the branch and attack. But Hal shook his head quickly, telling Bailey without words to ignore
those dangerous instincts and stay calm.

“How do we know you're telling the truth?” Hal said. “Taleth could be anywhere.”

The Jackal looked from Hal to Bailey, and raised one eyebrow.

“
He
knows I'm telling the truth,” he said. “What does your kin tell you, boy?”

Bailey said nothing. He remembered the flash he'd felt earlier that morning of Taleth's consciousness. He didn't need to hear that menacing voice again—
my pretty
beast
—to know that the man standing in front of him was the one who had taken her.

“She's been getting more and more anxious, the closer you've come,” the Jackal said. “My men have watched the docks, and every pathway out of The Maze since first
capturing her. I knew it would only be a matter of days before her kin arrived in my valley, and here you are.”

The two guards returned. They were burly men dressed in dark uniforms and boots, like soldiers. One had a bow and quiver of metal arrows strapped to his back; the other, a long, imposing
blunderbuss. They joined the Jackal at the trunk of the gnarled tree.

“So come on down now, boys,” the Jackal said again. “And let's have a nice chat.”

Hal and Bailey looked at each other. Bailey imagined bringing his claw up swift and sharp across the man's already-scarred face—but Hal was right. He was too eager to start a fight,
and this time, the risk was too great. His hands shook from terror, and he nearly slipped from the branch on his way down. He tried not to take his eyes off the Jackal's amused smirk.

At the base of the tree, the guards searched their knapsacks, and took away both Hal's knife and Bailey's tiger claw. Then they marched the boys through the underbrush to the
gleaming car, its engine growling like a waiting wolf. The Jackal had done well for himself in exile. The guards shoved Hal and Bailey into the backseat. The Jackal slid into the opposite seat
facing them.

“I've had men canvassing the Fairmount woods since Midwinter,” said the Jackal. “I knew the Velyn were still lurking about, but they couldn't stop me from finding
her—the last white beast, just like the prophecy said.” He met Bailey's eyes. “But she's no use to me at all without you.”

“What do you want?” Bailey asked. The car was moving now, with the shadowy mountain-shapes of the two guards looming in the front seat.

“The people believe in the symbol of the tiger, even after all these years,” the Jackal began. “My time in exile has shown me my error: prophecies have a way of coming true,
don't they? Instead of fighting the prophecy, I should just make it work in my favor.”

“But you're not the True King!” Bailey spat.

“Why wouldn't I be? I have the Child of War and his rare white tiger! You should thank me—Viviana wants you dead, but I won't let that happen, because I'm
smarter.” The Jackal grinned. “Her clanking ravens are far too easy to intercept. Imagine my surprise when I coaxed that charming voice out of its parts—
Joan? What happened
with the Child of War? Confirm that the child is dead, and the prophecy is no longer a concern!
—Ha! She's been so preoccupied trying to kill
you
that she didn't
think to find the tiger first, as I have. And won't she be surprised when I arrive at her fair with both prizes?” He laughed and leaned forward with his hands folded on his cane.

“Tell me, how did you overcome Joan Sucrette? She was a ruthless one, from what news I receive out here. Did you slit her throat? Poison her?”

Bailey stiffened at the mention of Sucrette's name. The Jackal seemed excited about the death that haunted Bailey still. He wished he could simply grab Hal and tumble out of the car to
safety. But where would they go, and how would they ever rescue Taleth? The Jackal's amused stare was still fixed on him, waiting for him to speak.

“I didn't kill her,” Bailey admitted. “The animals she'd been dominating did, once we set them free.”

“Poetic,” spat the Jackal, “but hardly as interesting.”

Soon the car stopped, and the guards opened the door for the Jackal to step out. Bailey and Hal followed, and found themselves standing at the entrance of a bunker set into a low, grassy hill.
Flat plains surrounded them, stretching into the darkness. They were marched into the bunker and down a long hallway with rooms on either side. Gas lamps hung at intervals on the ceiling, emitting
a faint yellow glow.

As they passed one of the heavy closed doors, Bailey felt his pulse quicken and a buzzing in his chest. It was Taleth—her consciousness washed over him. He sensed the cold floor under her
paws as she leapt up onto all fours; he felt her whiskers twitch, and her massive heart begin to thrum faster. She knew that Bailey was nearby.

They turned a bend and arrived at a meeting hall of sorts, with a wooden table and metal chairs, and thick bars clamped onto a set of high windows. A lone jackal sat in the corner of the room
near a small fire grate, its bushy tail swatting the floor as it watched the men enter.

“Welcome to my prison,” said the Jackal. “I am prisoner and warden both.”

The Jackal pulled up a metal chair, and its legs screeched against the cold stone floor. He sat facing the boys, who stood across the table side by side, the guards at their elbows. The Jackal
thrust his thick hand into the pocket of his uniform and took out a cut of raw, red meat wrapped in a piece of oilcloth. He dangled the meat in the direction of the jackal in the corner, holding it
by his thigh as the dog came closer, sniffing. It dutifully lifted its paw and set it on the Jackal's leg, the very image of devotion and tender admiration. Then the Jackal tossed the meat
away, and the animal went snarling after it. The Jackal didn't have a life-bonded kin at all; he manipulated his kin into looking adoring. He was nothing but vile appearances.

Hal was peering off to the side, toward the end of the long wooden table. On it, Bailey recognized one of Viviana's metal birds—a Clamoribus—but this one was in pieces,
scattered. He knew it wasn't a real animal, but still the sight of the detached wings and head unsettled him.

“I thought I'd killed all the Velyn, until I got word of that white beast lurking outside the school. And now here
you
are. I hope you do not hold the death of your people
against me,” the Jackal said. “Men who seek power must be willing to get blood on their hands.”

“Sounds like something a killer would say,” said Bailey.

“I
am
a killer!” shouted the Jackal, slamming his fist down on the wooden table. The furry jackal in the corner yipped, frightened. “And it would serve you well to
listen. Leave the past where it is, and align yourself with real power. The kingdom is ready for my return. Join me at Viviana's fair, and help me prove to Aldermere that I am the True
King.”

“I‘ll never join you,” said Bailey. His whole body shook.

The Jackal pursed his lips as though he were chewing his next words before spitting them out. He stood, and walked around the table toward them. Bailey's skin began to crawl with
gooseflesh, and he had trouble distinguishing his own fear from Taleth's—wherever she was, she could sense his dismay.

“A shame,” the Jackal said. “Your refusal makes me upset, and I often like to hurt things when I'm upset. But you and your beast—you're too valuable to kill
outright.”

The Jackal reached his thick hand out and grabbed Hal fiercely by the shoulder.

“I'll just have to kill this one instead.”

“NO!” CRIED BAILEY AS
he lunged forward. The guard to his left grabbed Bailey's arm and twisted it behind his back. Pain radiated
from his shoulder socket.

The Jackal shoved Hal over to the other guard, who dragged him toward the table.

“It's going to be all right,” Hal called over his shoulder.

“You're a coward!” Bailey yelled at the Jackal, who slapped him hard across the face. Bailey tasted blood in his mouth.

“And all you are is a little pup,” the Jackal replied, “barking at a dog with much sharper teeth than yours.” Bailey struggled in the guard's grip.

“Stop! You can't do this!” he yelled. Neither the guards nor the Jackal answered him.

“Hal!” Bailey yelled. “Hal!” He didn't know what else to do.

Hal didn't even look at him—his eyes were shut tight behind his glasses. Bailey could hardly breathe. All he could think to do was yell and kick—all he wanted was to protect
Hal. Hal had never been anything but loyal and wise—and all Bailey brought him was trouble. If Hal died here, in this filthy bunker, he'd never forgive himself.

“What are you going to do?” asked Bailey. “What do you want?”

“A simple yes,” said the Jackal. “Will you do as I ask of you, when the time comes?”

Hal opened his eyes and shook his head.

“Don't,” Hal said. “Don't say yes!”

One of the guards grabbed Hal's glasses off his nose and crushed them in his fist in a single motion. He let them drop to the floor, a broken mess of metal and glass.

“Make him watch,” said the Jackal to the man gripping Bailey's arm. The guard, a man with almost no chin and drooping, cold eyes, twisted Bailey's arms behind his back.
As Bailey tried to free his hands, he felt sharp pains in his shoulders.

“No—no!” Bailey yelled.

The Jackal walked over to Hal and unsheathed a small dagger from a holster at his hip.

“I remember being young and foolish just like you,” the Jackal said to Bailey. “I felt indestructible. But we all have our weaknesses. Our friendships, for
instance…”

The Jackal grabbed Hal by the shoulder and held the dagger's edge to the side of Hal's neck.

“Stop!” Bailey cried.

The Jackal moved the knife in his hand ever so slightly, and Hal flinched, shutting his eyes tightly again.

“Let him go!” Bailey yelled.

Bailey heard another sound over his own anguish—a roar, muffled by a stone wall.

“Oh, very good,” murmured the Jackal. “Now everyone's joined us.”

The roar echoed in Bailey's ears, loud and pulsing. Taleth was in the next room, and as surely as he could feel her terror, she could feel his.

“Bailey,” said Hal quietly. “Don't listen to him.”

The Jackal's smile faded, and he tightened his grip on Hal.

“What's your answer, boy?” the Jackal demanded, his cold eyes set on Bailey's.