The air smelled strange, even for Terracornus. The ground grew muddier, and moss and lichen crawled along the branches of the leafy trees like it did on the evergreens of Lonehorn Island. The air had changed too, but there was no tinge of salt or fresh, rainlike fragrance. The crisp, spicy scent of the silver-green forest gave way to a very different smell. Twig crinkled her nose. It smelled wet—the wet of rotting.
Emmie circled higher, farther from the murky air. In the distance, there was a pop, hiss. A burbling, like a pot boiling over.
“What was that?”
“Swamp gas. Wonder’s leading us toward the swamp.”
The swamp? Twig’s heart fluttered with panic. She could hear Casey’s voice, lowered for dramatic effect. Of course there’s things alive in the Death Swamp…things that’ll make sure you don’t make it out alive.
“Indy went into the swamp?” Twig said. “Why would the thief take him in there?”
“Could be he just came close.”
“Or maybe Indy got away!”
“We’ll see.”
Soon the mud was up almost to Rain Cloud’s knees. The trees weren’t rooted in the ground; they appeared to be floating—in swamp water. A layer of rich, foamy green carpeted that water.
This was it. The edge of the swamp.
Wonder picked up a hoof even more slowly than usual, and the mud sucked in protest as the swamp tried to cling to her, to hold her back.
“Well, it doesn’t look so bad,” Twig said hopefully. The water was stinky but not unbearable. It certainly wasn’t black. Maybe those stories were just stories, embellished to frighten and thrill. But the look Ben gave her squashed that hope.
He pointed into the vines. Dangling among the bright green was an even brighter rope. It moved, in spite of the absence of a breeze. A snake.
“Poisonous. But this is just the outer edge of the swamp. Farther in, there are other snakes. Other dangers. It’s dark. The creatures blend in. People don’t see them until it’s too late.”
“The stories…”
“They’re true. We have to turn around.”
What about Indy? One look at Ben’s face, and Twig swallowed back the words. If Indy was in that swamp…
“The swamp swallows up all other scents. All the water…its own smells…”
The chances of finding Indy in there were next to nothing. And the chances of never finding their way out of the Death Swamp were very high.
With an aching heart, Twig urged Wonder to turn around. Wonder cried out mournfully, as though she too thought that the brave Indigo Independence, her father, was lost.
“What now?” Twig asked, looking into Ben’s grim face. “Are we going back to Merrill?”
“No.” Ben sighed and stared determinedly into the distance. “We’re going to the castle.”
***
Ben urged Rain Cloud into a gallop. He knew what he had to do to save Indy.
“The castle!” Twig gasped. “To see the queen?”
The queen wouldn’t see them if he could help it. “The queen has a library. There’s a map of the swamp there. It’s our only hope of finding Indy in there and making it out alive.” Even if Indy isn’t. Ben tried not to picture him sinking into the mud, deeper and deeper, not to imagine the swamp lizards gliding through the water, his desperate cries for help igniting their hunger.
He had to get that map and hope it wasn’t too late. Ben whispered words of encouragement to Rain Cloud. The pony panted after Wonder, who’d begun to toss her head frantically as Twig pushed her on, away from Indy’s scent.
Through the trees ahead, Ben spotted something—the telltale pale blur of a unicorn!
“Indy!” Twig cried.
The breeze shifted the branches, and sunlight glinted on something deep gold. The unicorn’s trappings were gold and green, the colors of the army of Eastland.
“They’re Eastlanders!” Ben said.
But his warning came too late. With a determined leap, Twig and Wonder were off, headed straight for the encampment of Eastland soldiers, dressed in the trappings of a messenger of the Queen of Westland, Eastland’s sworn enemy. There was nothing for Ben to do but follow.
Ben heard the cries of surprise, the pounding of hooves, the ring of steel. He was still too far away to help Twig. Ben struggled to ride the unfamiliar pony while readying his bow. Rain Cloud’s every response was slow motion compared with Indy, making it even harder for Ben to know whether his subtle signals had been missed entirely.
Though he wanted to rush in, Ben had no choice but to slow Rain Cloud as he approached the perimeter of the clearing. Half a dozen soldiers formed a line in front of him, bows trained on him.
He was outmatched. Ben carefully lowered his bow. Rain Cloud trembled. “We are messengers of the Queen of Westland,” Ben said quickly. “My companion’s mount is young and…ill. She caught a scent and rushed after it. We come with no intent to harm. We didn’t mean to startle you.”
“More like distract us,” one of the soldiers muttered. He spat on the ground and scanned the forest behind Ben, searching for others.
“Come now, Ackley,” the soldier next to him said. “There is the truce. Perhaps the Westlander is telling the truth.”
“Westlanders telling the truth?” Ackley sniffed.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Ben said, “but this is Westland. It is you who are guests here.”
“That’s right. We are Her Majesty’s guests, come at her invitation to attend the grand tournament. As a gesture of goodwill. And to discuss matters of great importance. Matters that could affect our truce.”
Stolen unicorns. War.
“Perhaps her will is not so good if we are unable to travel under the protection of her invitation, Barlow,” Ackley snarled.
A high cry pierced the sounds of chaos coming from the Eastlanders’ camp. Wonder. What were they doing to her? What about Twig?
The one called Barlow nodded. “The prince will not be pleased.”
“Excuse me,” Ben said, “the prince?”
“Reynald. The Prince of Eastland. The one they call—”
“The Boy King,” Ben finished for Barlow.
“That’s the one,” Barlow said proudly.
Reynald was a famous rider and fighter. His unshakable stallion, Stone Heart, was just as famous. With his elderly father ailing and too weak to travel, it was Prince Reynald who represented his people. From here to the farthest reaches of the Barrenlands, Reynald was known as the Boy King. What had started out as a term of derision—mocking a young boy too full of himself, as well as a jab at the true ruler of Eastland—was now spoken with a trace of awe, even by those who despised Eastland the most.
Reynald was not only skilled and intelligent, but he was also ruthless. He had to be. The Eastlanders weren’t known to value mercy, and with his uncle vying to take the throne from his ailing father, the young prince had to show his people that he was a king in the making—a king worth waiting for. And he was here, just on the other side of those trees—with Twig, who’d just barged into his camp.
***
Wonder leaped over the underbrush and into a clearing full of tents, armed men and women, and more unicorns than Twig had ever seen in once place—unicorns that hardly seemed like unicorns at all. Not like Wonder and Indy, and not like Dagger and the wild herd either. Their bodies were the same, their movement only slightly changed by their armor, but their eyes! They were dull gray instead of swirling with quicksilver life.
“Stop her!” a soldier shouted.
“To the perimeter!”
“It’s a trap!”
“Please!” Twig cried. “Don’t shoot! It’s just a mistake.”
But was it? Was Indy here?
Wonder reared and kicked over a cooking pot. Its contents splashed into the campfire. A tower of steam billowed up, and their pursuers backed off. Wonder bounded off again and came face-to-face with the horn of an Eastland unicorn. The unicorn charged with a cold determination. Wonder shrieked at her own hornless state, dodged, and reared again. Could she fight with nothing but hooves and teeth?
Wonder charged at one of the tents with a sense of purpose that defied every warning and plea from her rider. Wonder scraped her head against a tent pole, trying to dislodge her horn cap. The horn cap flipped up—just enough to relieve the downward pressure on her horn for an instant. And an instant was all it took for the point of her horn to rise and push its way out.
Now armed and ready, Wonder turned again to fight. A small, orange-feathered object whizzed through the air. The Eastlanders were done with restraint. Someone had fired. Twig felt Wonder flinch, then the muscles relax underneath her. The strength, the energy, seeped out of Wonder.
The unicorn crumpled, spilling Twig onto the trampled earth. Twig jumped up, drew her sword, and glared at the circle of mounted soldiers around her. Their confusion and concern turned to amusement.
How dare they laugh! Fighting angry tears, Twig turned to Wonder. A tuft of orange feathers fanned out from her perfect white flank.
“No!” Twig dropped her sword and fell to her knees.
“It’s just a sleep inducer. She’ll be fine in a few minutes. You, on the other hand…” The soldier chuckled. He nodded at two men behind him.
Rough hands grabbed Twig’s collar and hauled her to her feet. Twig stared into a shrewd, battle-scarred face.
“Your unicorn gave you away.” He kept a tight grip on her as he spoke. His voice was low and raspy. “The queen would never waste such a well-built young mare on a messenger.”
“Could be she sent this ‘messenger’ on her supposedly harmless mount to attack the prince once we let her into our camp,” a skinny young soldier said.
“Why would I go barging in like this then? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“’Cause you’re just a girl, and a lousy rider at that,” the skinny one replied.
Twig bristled and wanted to say something smart back, but tears pricked her eyes; the burn of a cry tried to make its way up her throat.
“Yes,” said Raspy Voice, “but why would the queen send an inferior rider to penetrate our camp?”
Another soldier approached. “Ackley.” Raspy Voice nodded at him.
“Looks like there’s just the two of them, her and a boy. Quite a bit bigger, but riding a runty horse.” Ackley leaned to Raspy Voice’s ear, and Twig barely caught his whisper. “He insists on having a word with the prince, alone. He’s certain the prince will want to see him.”
***
Ackley tossed Ben’s weapons into a heap.
“This way,” Barlow said. “To the prince.”
Ben followed him to the largest tent, positioned in the center of the camp. Inside, the Boy King sat in a cushioned, gilded chair, his arms crossed, green cape trimmed with braid—not dyed but made of real gold thread.
“So, I have a visitor?” His voice was high—surprisingly boyish. “Interesting, since I’ve already received a message from the queen today.” He rose and strode over to a desk in the corner of the tent, picked up a rolled-up paper, and cast it to the ground with a flourish. “First an insult, a threat to war, even as I journey to the castle at the queen’s request. And now this—invasion. You are no messenger of the queen, are you?”
Ben bowed deeply, though it pained him to do it. “No, Your Highness.” He couldn’t let the Boy King think this was a gesture of war. “But I assure you, we’re not—”
“Spies? Assassins? I will find out who you are, and there will be war! Make no mistake about that. Thievery! Low-down thievery! That’s what she’s accused me of. How would I steal a unicorn out of her own stable, when I was five days’ travel away at the time, you tell me that!”
No doubt the queen thought it had been a professional hired by the ruler of Eastland, perhaps to diminish Westland’s forces and to bolster their own, or perhaps just to mock her. If the rumors, and the queen, were right, that meant that someone with access to the key to the passage, with knowledge of its location, had passed these on to Westland’s enemies. Someone had ventured all the way into the Earth Land in order to help provoke this war.
Reynald gestured for Ben to rise. He leaned in, just inches from Ben’s face. “Soon enough, I’ll prove myself against Westland’s riders. There will be none who can match me!”
“You are a champion of tournaments.” Though Ben would’ve resorted to flattery if that was what it took to get them out of here alive, his statement was true.
“I am a champion of nearly every test of skill! All but the battlefield.”
Reynald was too young for a real battle against men; he wasn’t much older than Ben. Was he foolish enough to try? Was his father weak enough to allow it? How many men and women, how many unicorns, would die for his desire to engineer his own honor?
Ben looked the Boy King in the eye. He was not going to let that happen. He was going to have to tell him exactly who he was.
***
Reynald drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, staring at Ben, now seated in the simpler cushioned chair the Boy King had offered him.
“Ben of the Island. I always hoped we would meet. I never supposed it would be under such…interesting circumstances. My men told me you arrived on a runty old horse. Quite a step down for the son of Darian. I suppose the two of you haven’t managed to rein in any of the wild savages on that island after all. So much for the mighty ambitions of Westland’s most ardent herders.”
“My unicorn,” Ben ground out the words, “was stolen. Perhaps you could tell me something about that.”
“How, in the name of all the unicorns, do you think I could know you were coming back to Westland and send someone to steal your unicorn as you journeyed?”
Ben laughed humorlessly. “You didn’t have to know any such thing, since Indy wasn’t stolen from Terracornus!”
“Your unicorn was stolen from the island? You’re suggesting I have a whole band of thieves, one of whom I had sail all the way to the Earth Land?”
Ben struggled to hide his surprise. Few Terracornians knew how to get to the Earth Land. Only a handful of Westlanders, as far as Ben knew. It was a relief to know the Eastlanders hadn’t figured it out. But if Reynald’s ignorance—and his surprise at hearing Indy was taken from the Earth Land—was genuine, then he couldn’t be behind the thefts. If not Reynald, then who?
Ben shrugged, hiding his true thoughts. “You’re a man of many resources.”
Reynald got up and paced across the tent. Abruptly, he spun on Ben. “No one knows you’re here. I could kill you right now, and no one would know. I ought to, for such baseless insults!”
Ben wanted to smack the smirk right off his face. Instead he stood and smiled back. “Do you really think I’d travel with just one companion? That no one knows I’m here?”
Ben watched Reynald’s doubt grow. He would never guess that only an old herder knew where Ben was, and that even he had no idea exactly where Indy’s scent had led him. The Boy King couldn’t risk it. If word got out that he’d killed Ben on Westland soil, Reynald would never make it out of the country alive. He’d get the war he seemed to crave, but he’d be in his grave, and it would be his uncle fighting for glory instead, and no doubt taking the crown from the grieving King of Eastland.
“I’m on my way to the castle right now. It’s a surprise. I’d appreciate your keeping our little run-in quiet. Your men don’t need to know who I am either.”
“Why should I care about that? And why exactly are you here? Dressed like that?”
“I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.” Reynald snorted a laugh, but Ben ignored it. “I’ve been tracking a stolen unicorn. If the subject comes up, I’d hate to have to tell the queen his scent led me to you.”
Anger and fear flashed in Reynald’s eyes. Maybe Ben had played his cards right. Maybe Reynald wasn’t quite ready to declare war. At least, not until he was safely out of Westland.