If you’re ever in danger, be smart. Weigh every decision with care.
—PA ABNER
The company huddled close as Quinn drew up their battle scheme, scratching a few lines in the sand with a fingertip. Achilles nestled under Quinn’s arm, as if wanting the first peek at the strategy. Speaking quickly, Quinn laid out the plan, making sure to include Sam’s approach to the Palace wall. Strong Heart expressed concern about leaving O’Brien and the sheriff to hold back the army, but the Enforcer assured the girl she had plenty more pouches and tricks.
“I’ll buy you tadpoles the time ya need,” O’Brien said.
Sheriff Turner patted the grip of his Colt revolver. “We won’t let those goons get anywhere near you.”
Achilles barked and hopped back and forth. Patting the dog’s head, Quinn said, “You stay close to O’Brien and the sheriff, hear? They’re gonna need backup.”
Opening the pouch she’d taken from her coat, O’Brien drew out a bluish powder and placed the substance on her palm. Dozens of tiny, brilliant sparkles flashed in the grains.
“Everybody ready?” O’Brien asked.
When the Lost Causes gave their collective nod, the Enforcer pursed her lips and blew the soft blue grains toward the raging Rattlebrook. A cloud of sapphire puffed into the air, catching in the wind. Wisps of powder drifted over the water.
Muskets roared, and lead balls smashed into the boulder and dirt near the Lost Causes. Angry hissing filled the air as Lost Tucker and her Weaver spawn cried out.
O’Brien dodged back to her cover. “Now we give it a second to work.”
“For what to work?” asked Cutter.
The Enforcer flashed her wild grin. “Wait for the signal.”
A high-pitched voice echoed from across the channel. “I saw you, Em! My Weavers are champin’ at the bit to shred your bones!”
“Lost Tucker,” O’Brien muttered to the group, then hollered back to the woman, “If yer Weavers are so eager to tussle, send ’em across the Rattle to git me!”
A shrill cackle followed from Lost Tucker. “Just you wait, Em! You’ll see what the Master has in store for you! For all of you!”
The purple sky flashed with a fresh explosion of lightning. The foulness in the bitter breeze seemed to sour further. The air was warm, something Keech had missed the last few months, but now the heat seemed oppressive.
Then he noticed something curious. The constant roar of the river had disappeared. A supernatural stillness washed over Thunder Pass.
“The Rattle’s gone silent!” Duck said. “I reckon that’s the signal.”
Needing no further instructions, Quinn sang a passage from The Odyssey. His voice sounded scratchy and spent, but as he sang, Keech felt the familiar cascade of energy concealing the group inside Quinn’s magical bubble.
“We best hurry,” Keech said, checking that Doyle’s satchel was secure around his shoulder.
“The horses should be safe here,” Strong Heart said.
Sam pulled a long coil of rope down from Minerva’s saddle. “We’ll need this, I reckon.”
Cutter spun his magic-infused blade. “Don’t forget this.”
“I’ll clear us a path to the wall,” Duck said, wrapping her hands around a chunk of stone nearly as big as her own body. She glanced at Quinn. “Ready?”
Quinn gave a quick thumbs-up, his eyes roving and alert.
The Lost Causes stepped out from their cover to find the Rattlebrook River frozen solid, a twisting tumble of motionless ice, thanks to O’Brien’s blue powder. The posse raced toward the petrified waters. As they reached the shoreline, Keech could see thralls hunched behind rocks and tree trunks, holding their muskets in firing position. They weren’t shooting, Keech reckoned, because they couldn’t see the Lost Causes approaching.
With a furious grunt, Duck hurled the stone she carried. The rock sailed like a cannonball across the paralyzed river and crashed with monstrous force onto the far bank. Pine trunks shattered, and thrall bodies flew in every direction. Rose’s army bellowed, and muskets fired in unison. The volleys weren’t aimed at the group, but a few shots whizzed close enough that Keech yelled to O’Brien, “We need cover!”
“Comin’ right up,” the Enforcer said. She tapped Sheriff Turner’s shoulder and whistled to Achilles. “Let’s go!” The three peeled off from the young riders, racing down the Rattlebrook’s bank. In only a few steps, they left Quinn’s protective bubble and were exposed.
A thrall in the distance pointed at O’Brien and the sheriff. More muskets were roused in clumsy succession. Turner cracked off a few shots from his Colt, kicking up dirt on the opposite shore. O’Brien flung another handful of green dust, and once again a swarm of mites shot out of the emerald cloud. The cluster buzzed like angry wasps toward Rose’s army, giving O’Brien, Turner, and Achilles time to head for cover.
Following Duck and Strong Heart, Keech stepped out onto the frozen river. They likely had only a few more seconds before the spell on the water broke, so he moved urgently. He’d expected to slide across the surface, as if coasting over a sheet of ice, but the water was soft beneath his boots, like stepping through a patch of rotten pumpkins. In seconds, the Lost Causes reached the other side and gathered in a tight cluster.
Thralls lingered not ten feet away on the shore, staring across the river to where O’Brien, Turner, and Achilles were holed up. A hairy man in ragged clothes stalked past the thrall soldiers and hissed, “Hurry up, ya worthless fools! Load yer muskets and fire! You’ll be rewarded for every runt ya kill, but if ya shy away from battle, I’ll take yer heads!” As he spoke, Keech spotted rows of fanged teeth, like Black Charlie’s. The brute was a Weaver, and he seemed to be one of the commanders leading the thrall army.
Sam gave a brisk signal—This way—using one of the hand motions he and Keech had long ago mastered. The Lost Causes shuffled past the dead horde toward the vast stone wall of the Palace, holding close to Quinn, who continued to gently sing.
Like a sudden burst of heavy rain, the Rattlebrook’s violent roar resumed as O’Brien’s spell on the water wore off. Keech spotted the Enforcer on the far side, scattering another handful of a new powder across the sand.
A swarm of small monstrosities erupted from the ground. From this distance it was hard to tell for certain, but the creatures looked like insects built out of sticks and twigs, each no larger than Achilles. The stick bugs sprang into the Rattlebrook and scuttled through the white water—on a course that would take them directly to Rose’s army.
The young riders reached the Palace wall, the very spot where Coward and Doyle had entered mere minutes earlier. Keech pressed his palm against the stone, hoping the passage might still be open after Coward’s use of the Key, but the rock was solid beneath his hand.
“Looks like it’s time to climb,” Sam said. He pointed to a jagged lip in the wall, a nearby split in the stone with enough gaps and crevices to let them scale it.
Gripping notches in the stone, Sam led the way up the rock face. Keech adjusted Doyle’s satchel against his back and started climbing. Because the ascent was quite steep—at times almost straight up—they took care to set their boots and check their grips. When they reached nearly one hundred feet, they rounded a bend in the rock. Suddenly, Sam jerked back. He threw a sign at Keech. Enemy near.
Drawing his blade, Cutter skirted past the group. He peeked around the corner, raised the knife, and lunged. There was a startled gasp on the other side, a chomping noise like chattery teeth, then a rotting thrall tumbled into view. The skeletal thing pitched over the edge, sailed through the air, and smacked against the stones below, shattering into dozens of bony pieces. Where the dead thing landed, a group of pale-faced foot soldiers sprang back in surprise. They pointed up at the short ledge where the Lost Causes were standing, then started yelling for reinforcements.
“Well, they know we’re here now,” Duck said.
A general ruckus broke out as the thrall army scampered about, calling for help. One of Lost Tucker’s Weavers followed the gestures of the thralls. With unnerving grace, he pattered up the Palace wall toward the young riders as though he were scurrying up a fence post.
Strong Heart glanced down at the approaching Weaver. “We should go. Now.”
“I’ll stay and take care of that demonio,” Cutter said. “The rest of you keep climbing.”
“Not a chance,” Keech said. “That thing will tear you apart.”
“You forget, Lost Cause. I have this.” Cutter held up his knife. “It took down Ignatio. I suspect it can dispatch a Weaver just as easy. Go!”
Duck glanced nervously at Quinn, but Strong Heart prodded the group to hasten the decision. “O-nah-lee! We must hurry!” she shouted.
Keech hated to leave Cutter behind, but Cut was likely the best equipped to deal with the Weaver. As Pa Abner often taught, When the clock’s ticking, make a choice. Or else one will be made for you. “Hey, Cut! Don’t forget—a faithful friend…”
Cutter grinned. “Is a sturdy shelter, amigo.”
The Lost Causes resumed their climb.