CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A prophet failed by honor never thrives

And saviors wilt from lack of gratitude

Mistakes nourished by youth will oft take root

And wither on the vine until removed

The seedlings of dissent some cultivate

Will blossom into flowers of betrayal

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

Darvyn spent the first day of the journey watching Kyara closely for any sign of distress. She rode in front of him, her back pressed against his stomach, as the horse made its way south. They stopped frequently for rest and water due to the excessive heat, but she appeared to be faring well. The effects of Serpent’s Gorge lingered and she hadn’t tried to kill him once.

At the end of the third day, they reached Breach Valley. They made camp in the low foothills of the mountains, near where he had monitored Jack at the army base two weeks before. So much had changed in that time.

He had no binoculars with him, but stretched his senses across the area. The nearby Keeper safe house was empty. The spell that helped keep it hidden from outsiders was intact, though. He thought of Hanko and Meldi, who manned the safe house, wondering where they’d gone.

Darvyn increased his sweep. A trio of soldiers patrolled on horseback. They rode through the area between Darvyn’s position and the army base. No one else was in the vicinity.

The outer reach of his range included the army base, and he honed his attention on the men gathered there. He could not pick out individuals with his Song unless he had a connection to them in the form of a spell. His thread to Jack had long since been severed, so he scanned for the injured.

The Queen had assured him Jack was alive, but she had not mentioned his condition. Darvyn’s scan of the infirmary yielded only two occupants. One man had badly burned hands—perhaps a kitchen worker? Another bore a broken leg, but nothing more severe than that. The soldier’s mood was rather jolly. Darvyn didn’t think Jack would be so merry if he were captured and injured.

Various aches and pains, old nagging injuries and undiagnosed illnesses among the men of the base pricked Darvyn’s awareness. All fit the profile of soldiers who had seen battle.

A pocket of fear, anger, and remorse snagged him. A small building at the edge of the base held half a dozen occupants. He delved deeper into their emotions and felt a familiar resonance.

He must have made a noise, for Kyara questioned him. “Have you found him?”

“No, but I think I’ve found Farron.”

He strained the capacity of his Song, drawing even more Earthsong. He felt a young man, naturally exuberant yet cautious and angry. Even more anger emanated from an older man. It cloaked him and did not seem to have any particular motivation—it could be Aggar. Darvyn suspected that Zango and Hanko were with them along with two others. But he couldn’t be sure.

He took a deep breath. He had never done what he was about to do before, but the Queen had told him of the trick often enough. It could only be done with another Singer, but it would no doubt frighten Farron half to death, if that was indeed him. Still, it was the only way to be sure of the teen’s identity.

He focused on the energy of the young man and sent him a message mentally. Farron, it’s Darvyn. I’m nearby.

The young man’s heartbeat sped to a rapid pace, his body giving off the markers of shock.

I won’t be able to hear you, but I can sense your body’s response. Blink once if you can hear me.

Engorged as he was with Earthsong, Darvyn could feel even the slightest of motions. Farron blinked once.

Are you hurt? Once for yes, twice for no.

Two blinks.

Are Aggar, Zango, and Hanko with you?

One blink.

Are they hurt?

No.

Have you been captured?

Yes.

“They’re in the base’s jail,” he said.

How many guards? Blink the number.

Two blinks.

Be ready to go tonight, but don’t tell the others I’m coming. We may have a mole.

One blink.

Darvyn released the massive amount of Earthsong he’d been manipulating. He sagged against Kyara as the exhaustion rolled over him. The tiredness would pass. Now he and Kyara needed a way to get his fellow Keepers out of prison before he could find out what had happened to Jack.

---

Raucous laughter gurgled from the mess hall. A troupe of burlesque performers from the Lake Cities had entered half an hour before, drawing the attention of all who could fit inside the building. The hall lay diagonally across from the prison building at the edge of a narrow lane of one-story structures. Darvyn crouched in the shadows below a window leading to the small prison’s outer chamber. The last time he’d peered in, the two guards Farron had warned him of had been seated at the metal table, playing cards.

A sharp wind blew by, ruffling the green shirt of his stolen uniform. He’d sung a concealment spell, darkening the shadows around him so if someone passed this way, they would not see him. Still, he was on alert.

Somewhere, out in the bush beyond the base, Kyara waited. He’d wanted her to stay in the abandoned safe house, but she had refused, wanting to be closer to the action in case something went wrong. Not being able to sense her out there was disconcerting, but he forced himself to focus. She could take care of herself.

Confident that no one was planning an imminent visit to the prisoners, Darvyn reached for the energy of the two young guards. He very slowly put them to sleep so that when they awoke, they would not even be aware of anything strange. They yawned in tandem, and both heads hit the table at the same time.

Darvyn waited another five minutes to ensure the escape would remain unnoticed. Then he stood and marched into the prison as if he belonged there. His uniform marked him as a commandant. Quite laughable due to his age, but it would at least give any soldier who entered pause if they thought to question him.

He retrieved the key ring from one of the sleeping soldiers and opened the barred door to the prison cells. He didn’t strictly need keys to open a lock, but his Song would damage the metal and he wanted no evidence of his presence left behind.

The door creaked on noisy hinges, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. When neither guard stirred, Darvyn passed through into the back.

Three small cells lined both sides of the jail. The four male Keepers were stuffed into one; two women were in a cell on the opposite side.

“Darvyn!” Farron exclaimed as he rushed to the bars.

“Shh,” Darvyn said, though the soldiers were in little danger of waking. “Are you all right?”

Hanko and Aggar, who were sitting on a straw mat on the ground, looked up with expressions of shock and aggravation respectively. Zango peeled himself away from the corner, a rare grin splitting his face.

“Good to see you, mate,” the big man said. “Asla called in and told us what happened. A run-in with the Poison Flame?”

“I told you we couldn’t trust her,” Aggar grumbled.

“It’s not what you think. I’ll explain later,” Darvyn said.

In the other cell, two female Keepers looked up at him, eyes wide. Lizana’s astonishment quickly turned to joy. Meldi gaped while Darvyn tried several keys on the chain at their cell door before finding the proper one.

“You’d better close your mouth, Meldi. Or something might just fly in.” He smiled as he swung the door open. She snapped her jaw shut and took the hand Lizana extended, rising to her feet.

“What happened to you all?” he asked, searching for the key to the men’s door.

“They discovered the Elsiran,” Hanko said, his voice scratchier than usual. Darvyn’s fingers shook as the key turned in the lock. The bars whispered open, and the men came rushing out.

“Caused quite a ruckus, it did,” the old man continued. “Swarms of soldiers spread out over the mountain.”

“We got nabbed helping a group of women and children through the Mantle,” Farron said, motioning to himself, Zango, and Lizana.

“Where’s Navar?” Darvyn asked.

“On his way to Sayya,” Hanko said. “One of the elders needed an Earthsinger.”

“The rest of us are here because we wanted to make sure they didn’t find the safe house. We all cleared out to lead the searchers away. Others are coming who’ll need it.” Meldi’s soft voice barely carried to Darvyn’s ears.

“And Jack?” Darvyn’s question was for Hanko. “What happened to him?”

“Apparently, he was shot but managed to escape into the mountains. The squad he’d been with set off after him.”

Darvyn peered into the outer chamber of the tiny prison house. The soldiers there were still fast asleep.

“That was nigh on a week ago,” Hanko continued. “No one has returned. Two more search teams were sent out after them, but there was a bad storm on the mountain. Both teams came back without any news, each a man down.”

Darvyn took a deep breath. No news was better than bad news, but just barely. Jack was clever, and a skilled soldier to boot. All Darvyn could do now was hope for the best. The Queen had the Elsiran in Her sights. Hopefully, She would look after him and send what aid She could.

Another failure. But now wasn’t the time to dwell. “Is everyone ready to run?”

“Will you be disguising us all?” Aggar asked. There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone.

Darvyn ignored it. “No, I couldn’t manage all of you. A bit of extra darkness will have to do. When we get out, go to the right, move quickly, and for feck’s sake don’t make any noise.”

He needed to focus all of his attention on getting them to safety, though the thought that one of these people had betrayed the Keepers—betrayed him—was always at the edge of his senses, tempting him to distraction. He opened the main door, peering out and scanning with his Song. “Come on.”

He rushed out with the others at his heels. Worried that Meldi wouldn’t be able to keep up with her limp, he turned around, only to find that Aggar had lifted her onto his back.

The group cleared the prison building cloaked in dense, Earthsong-created shadow. The moonless night lent its aid as the Keepers moved deeper into the bush. Kyara was out here somewhere, but Darvyn was certain she would not reveal herself to them. She had told him she’d meet him near the safe house once the rescue was complete. He hadn’t had time to question her further, but thoughts of her slipping away and him never seeing her again assaulted him.

He refocused on the escape, tensing when he felt a new presence approaching.

“Someone’s coming fast,” he whispered. “Hurry up.”

The group picked up their speed. Only Darvyn could see through the gloom he’d created, but the Singers would be able to feel their way through the sparse brush and lead the Songless.

Seven unknown men advanced, sprinting directly toward the Keepers. It should not have been possible, but it was as if their pursuers could see through Darvyn’s spell. His Song read their intentions. They were focused and confident. Single-minded. Were they coming for the Shadowfox?

The only way the pursuers’ fast and sure movements made sense was if they were tracking him in some way. But he had no idea how that would be possible. Believing himself to be the target, he broke off from the group with a whisper to Farron to lead the rest to the safe house.

Darvyn ran east to lead the soldiers away, and sure enough, they followed. He sang a maelstrom of dust and sand to mask his movement, but the pursuers gained speed until they were nearly on top of him. Unable to understand his failure, he readied another spell, but before he could release it, a collar clamped around his neck. With the snick of a lock fitting into place, his Song was cut off from him, lifting the darkness and leaving the star-splattered night.

The glow of a lantern bloomed before him, illuminating the figures of the men who had captured him. Seven soldiers leered, panting and coated in grime from his sandstorm. Golden Flames, every one. Darvyn heaved in a breath. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the satisfaction on every face. At least the others had gotten away.

One of the taller soldiers, a clean-cut fellow with flinty eyes, pulled back his fist and punched Darvyn in the face, knocking his head back. Seeing as they hadn’t bothered to bind his hands, Darvyn seized the opportunity to hit the man back, smashing his knuckles against his cheekbone. He shook off the pain that flared in his hand. Without his Song, he would not heal, but then again, neither would the soldier fighting him. He was determined to do as much damage as he could until someone stopped this. For the moment, none of the other Flames looked ready to intervene. Their expressions bore a savage glee, happy enough to watch the fight.

The two circled around each other. The dead-eyed soldier was bulkier than Darvyn, with menace dripping off him like sweat. Darvyn used his lighter frame and greater speed to avoid the blows he could, getting in a few jabs to the man’s middle. The soldier’s slow patience raised an alarm in Darvyn’s mind: there was no winning this fight.

He landed another punch to the man’s face, then was pushed back by heavy fists ramming into his chest. His lungs faltered under the onslaught, and his knees buckled while the soldier laughed. Another punch to his head made his vision blur. He scrambled back and got to his feet, swaying.

The roar of an engine cut through the quiet night. Darvyn steeled himself as another round of blows assailed him. He landed a kidney shot but paid for it with another brain-jangling punch.

A crawler drew to a stop just at the edge of the lantern’s circle of light. The look of shock on the soldier’s face was so extreme that Darvyn chanced a glance over. Blood dripped into his eyes and added to his already blurry vision—he was sure he was seeing things.

It certainly looked like Kyara sitting on the vehicle, a scowl marring her beautiful face. She’d changed from the Avinid clothing into a loose-fitting green army uniform and observed the scene angrily.

“Enough! Our orders are to bring him in alive. This is pointless.” She stalked over, practically snarling, beginning a staring contest with Darvyn’s opponent. The man curled his lips menacingly, but it didn’t appear to faze Kyara.

Then the soldier started screaming at her. “Eleven days! It’s been eleven days since you’ve checked in!”

Kyara crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

“Where have you been?” Spittle flew from the soldier’s mouth.

She tilted her head to avoid it. “I answer to the Cantor, not to you. I check in with her. I’m sorry if you’ve been laboring under any misconception about the chain of command, but until I hear a statement come from her lips that I am bound to obey, I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Yes, you do, Sergeant.”

“Then consider this insubordination, Captain. And did you bother to mention to the Cantor your little stunt in Five?”

So this captain was the same Golden Flame who had beaten her back at Checkpoint Five. Darvyn was equal parts furious with him and proud of her as she stood up to the man.

The Flame took a threatening step forward, anger rolling from him in waves. Kyara stopped him with a single finger raised between them. “If you think you are going to touch me, you’re wrong. You will never lay a finger on me again.” Her voice brooked no opposition.

More than one of the other Flames standing around visibly tensed, their hands moving to their weapons. The captain eyed her, wariness tinging his features. Finally, he took a step back, growling out orders to his men.

“Tie him up! We need to get the Shadowfox to Sayya as soon as possible.”

Kyara rubbed her chest unconsciously, then caught herself. She did not spare Darvyn a glance as she turned on her heel and walked off.