As soon as Artham, Sara Cobbler, and Armulyn the Bard were safe behind the barricade, Borley pushed his way through the crowd and hugged his queen.
“We made it, Sara! Every one of us!” he cried. “Your subjects are gathered near Johanicle’s Bootery awaiting your instructions.” He bowed, smiled with gleaming eyes, and stood at attention, ignoring the amused looks from the grownups around them.
“Well done, Borley.” Sara kissed him on the forehead. “I couldn’t ask for a better general.”
Borley’s jaw fell open and his cheeks turned red as apples. He fell briefly into a sort of glassy-eyed trance until Artham patted him on the back and snapped him out of it.
“Good work, lad,” Artham said with a smile. “Why don’t you check on your soldiers?”
“Soldiers,” Borley said dreamily.
“I’ll go too,” Armulyn said. “I need to check on my orphans.”
“Orphans,” Borley murmured as they left.
Artham turned to Sara. “Where’s Gammon?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I haven’t seen him since you left.” Sara was afraid to ask him if they’d found Maraly, so she didn’t. If they had, Artham would have said so. But surely it wasn’t too late to find her, even with the city overrun. Sara scanned the multitude of people crammed into the market, foolishly wishing she might see Maraly spitting and laughing with the rougher characters.
“Artham!” someone shouted over the din.
“Errol,” Artham said. “Any word from Gammon?”
“No. The worst of the fighting is still in the east. I suspect that’s where the Stranders were sneaking the Fangs into the city. A few Fang companies made their way to the north and west, but they were easily overtaken.” Errol, ragged from fighting, looked over the heads of the milling Dugtowners behind the barricade. Men with bows crouched near the top and shot arrows at Fangs on the other side. “He’s out there somewhere.”
“If anyone can make it back, it’s Gammon,” Artham said.
“Well, I hope he gets here soon. It’s getting dark, and the Fangs in the streets are only part of the problem.”
“What do you mean?” Artham asked.
“I’ll show you.”
Errol led Artham and Sara through the crowd to the riverfront. The Blapp was muddy as ever, slogging between Torrboro and Dugtown, indifferent to the battle on its banks. It had flowed for epochs and would continue to flow long after this war was a distant memory.
Errol pointed across the span at a cluster of boats and barges stretched as far as Sara could see to the east and west. They teemed with Fangs, and the hulking shapes of trolls rose among the Fangs like mountains over foothills.
“What are they waiting for?” Sara asked.
Artham took a deep breath. “Night.”
As if it had been waiting for the mention of the word, the sun slid behind a wall of clouds in the west, casting the land in dull gray light.
“My guess is that the Fangs in the burrows weren’t supposed to attack until nightfall,” Errol said, “which would have drawn our attention away from the river.”
“Then the larger force would surprise us at the waterfront,” Artham said.
“Right. Something must have triggered the attack in the city.” Errol looked at Artham. “I bet that something was you and Gammon.”
Artham nodded. “If we hadn’t been looking for Maraly, we wouldn’t have run into the Fangs. They would have caught us by surprise at nightfall.”
“Aye. And it would have worked too,” Errol said. “Even so, we’re in trouble. Our leader is missing. There are Maker knows how many Fangs in the east city. And once the sun goes down, we’re going to have them to deal with.” He pointed across the river. “Do you suppose you could find a few more guys with wings?”
“Other than chorkneys, you mean?” Artham pointed his thumb at a corral of chorkneys in the west end of the market. They honked and shuffled as they were being saddled and fitted for battle.
Errol grunted. “If only they could fly.”
“Can they swim?” Sara asked.
Errol and Artham started to answer, then looked at each other questioningly. Both said, “I don’t know.”
“I bet their webbed feet could do as well in water as on the snow.”
“If we can upset their vessels, we can upset their whole attack,” Artham said. “How many boats do we have?”
“Not nearly enough. Five? Ten? The Fangs had control of the river when we took Dugtown back. They ended up with most of the boats.”
“How many chorkneys?”
“That’s the whole cavalry there. Forty-three.”
“Well, until Gammon gets back,” Artham said, putting his hand on Errol’s shoulder, “it looks like you’re in charge. If I may advise you, it’s time to see how those birds do in the water. Do you think you can find forty-three fighters to brave the Blapp on the back of a chorkney?”
“Aye. And the bigger ones can carry two.”
“Good.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Sara.
“I’m going to find Gammon.”
“And Maraly.”
“Yes, of course. And Maraly.” Artham took a running start and flew over the heads of the startled Dugtowners. He circled the nearest torch tower, then disappeared beyond the rooftops.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Errol said, clearing his throat. He looked out at the mass of Fangs and trolls mustered on the far shore, then added in a quiet voice, “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.” He marched off in the direction of the chorkneys to inform his soldiers of the plan.
The flame of Sara’s hope, which had managed to stay lit even in the Fork Factory, was beginning to wane. There was no one left to help them. Gammon’s Kimerans were already here. Almost every Skreean north of the Blapp was gathered in Dugtown, and the rest had already been captured by the Fangs or were scattered across the continent, unorganized, weaponless, and leaderless. Fangs hemmed in the Dugtowners and only the barricades held them back. More Fangs stood ready to cross the Blapp.
“Queen Sara?” Borley said.
Sara hadn’t seen him approach, and she jumped a little.
“Ma’am, the orphans are hungry. And they want to see you. Everyone wants to know what’s going to happen.”
Sara put her arm around Borley’s little shoulders. She could tell he was afraid but didn’t want to show it. “The Fangs are going to attack us,” she said. “And we’re going to fight. That’s all I know, Borley.”
“I miss my parents,” Borley said quietly.
“Tell me about them.”
Sara led her little general back to the others. He told her all he could remember—his father had been a tailor, his mother a “really big lady,” as Borley put it—but Sara was only half-listening. She was thinking about her own mother and father, probably taken years ago. Even if Sara survived the battle and the war, she and the others would still be just as orphaned and just as homeless as they had been before.
Sara imagined taking all the children to some beautiful, unspoiled place after the fighting—Glipwood, maybe. Then they could all watch the sea dragons from the cliffs every summer at the half moon. They could grow up together. Maybe she would even find a young man to marry and have children. Not Janner—he was long gone. She had nursed the hope that she might see him again, but he was a world away.
She had to be realistic. She had to think about Skree. Her orphans. She had to find a home for them. It was difficult to imagine a world without Fangs, but it was worth the effort. She had never experienced it, really, but there had been a time before Gnag the Nameless. Maybe peace would come again, and maybe she would live to see it.
She didn’t allow herself to look back over her shoulder at Torrboro and the monsters that were coming with nightfall. If she did, the wind might snuff out what was left of her light.